Of Wicked Spells and Revelations
by vampirealchemist13
Summary: Harry confronts Draco about more than just hexing Katie Bell in the bathroom. Set to HBP movie-verse and DH book-verse. SLASH warning. HPDM - ON HIATUS
1. Of Wicked Spells & Revelations

**A/N: **I went to see Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince at the midnight showing, and during the bathroom scene between Draco and Harry, the beginning of this came to me. After that, I just couldn't find a good place to end it, so it grew and grew and now it's going to be a two chapter piece...one from the sixth book/movie and one that takes events from the seventh book and near the end. I'll have to reread the seventh book before I can write it, though.

It's not necessarily a one-shot, but it will only be two chapters long, maybe three if I decide an epilogue is necessary. It's all in third person, but it kind of takes place from different characters' points of view; if you have any questions, ask in your review.

Enjoy!

* * *

When he saw her standing, miraculously alive, in the Great Hall, he suddenly felt violently ill. Katie Bell had finally returned from St. Mungo's, a little traumatized and very behind on her schoolwork thanks to him, but still alive and kicking. And talking to Potter.

Her eyes drifted over to him and met his, confusion evident. She knew there was some unknown reason for having a bad feeling about him, and he could tell she didn't know exactly why she should suspect him, but it was clear she didn't remember who had given her the cursed necklace.

Just as he began to relax, though, Potter turned and locked eyes with him. Those violent emerald eyes, glinting with determination, had set on him, and as Potter did a double take, confirming Katie had indeed been staring at him, Draco turned and began his brisk walk to the bathroom on the second floor.

He should have guessed that Potter, with his stupid sense of Gryffindor nobility, would follow him.

Myrtle was out and about apparently, because she didn't fly out of her toilet stall when he turned the water on, filling the sink with ice cold water. The cold water made him feel slightly less ill, but he still felt sick.

Katie wasn't supposed to open the necklace's package; Dumbledore was. But now, thinking to the screams he had heard from halfway back to the castle, he realized he was glad the Headmaster had never received the necklace or the mead. The attempts had been half-hearted and pathetic because he never truly wanted them to succeed.

The Dark Lord's request, his demand to kill Dumbledore, had been considered an honor at first. But when Draco realized all the Headmaster's speeches reminded Draco of himself, he found himself wishing he couldn't find similarities. He didn't want to be like Voldemort; he didn't want to be marked anymore.

But, of course, now that he was branded, Voldemort could find him anywhere and anytime, provided he was outside Hogwarts' grounds, and soon that would not matter either. If Draco refused the Dark Lord, he and his mother would be killed, and that was all it took to solidify his resolve; he had to follow through…to the best of his ability.

"Malfoy." The mirror suddenly reflected not one boy, but two. "I know what you did. You tried to curse Dumbledore; you hexed Katie." Of course the Gryffindor Golden Boy had it all figured out.

He muttered a few quick swears before Potter had his wand drawn.

"_Stupefy!"_

_"Protego."_ Draco's shield charm gave him enough time to duck behind the stalls as the stunner hit the sinks, blasting a torrent of water over the floor.

_"Stupefy!"_

_"Stupefy!"_ The two stunners met in the middle to create a shower of sparks and water as the shock exploded a few toilets. Hidden behind a row of stalls, Draco could not locate Potter.

Suddenly, ripples from the opposite direction and a dark reflection in the water alerted him to the other boy's location. He moved so his feet were not visible by Potter and ducked the way he knew the other boy would be doing any moment.

He positioned his wand, and aimed another stunner, blown a few inches back by the shock wave of both stunners.

"_Sectumsempra!"_ A wand pointed at him from around the corner of the stalls and a purple jet of light blew him back at least ten feet. His side met the sink and he righted himself, and he staggered back, unable to find the strength to complete a proper breath. His white shirt was stained red and he could feel the sting of the water hitting freshly opened cuts that continued to expand across his chest.

"Shit, Draco!" The voice, Potter's he numbly registered, sounded genuinely worried, but he was too focused on taking a full breath.

"Draco, stay with me! Please, stay awake!" He sounded anxious, like he really didn't want Draco to go. "The book didn't say the spell would do this! I'm so sorry; I never wanted this to happen; especially to you!" Liar; the two of them had been trying to off each other for six years. He could hardly say that was the honest truth.

"Draco, you can't fall asleep. You need to stay awake. Otherwise I can't tell you why I've been following you all year." _Duh, because you don't trust me?_ Draco could hardly believe the Gryffindor's lack of functioning brain cells. "I've been following you because I knew you were trying to kill Dumbledore, though I'm sure you knew that. I know Voldemort designated you to be the one to kill the Headmaster.

"I've been following you so I can figure out how to help you. I don't want you to turn dark, Draco. And not for obvious reasons. I don't want you to come to the light because I want you on my side, or because I'm the Golden Boy trying to be a savior."

"I'm trying to save you because the Boy-Who-Lived isn't supposed to be in love with a Death Eater, and for once, I'm being selfish. For once, I'm trying to do something because I want it, not because someone else is telling me to." Draco's eyes, still half-lidded, widened in shock. His breaths, coming in more shallow pants, became faster and, though he couldn't bring himself to open his eyes, he could still speak.

"Potter…fuck…y-you. S-stop…toy…toying…with…me." A shudder ran through his body, and it took everything in him not to vomit; the loss of blood was making it hard to think, breathe, speak; quite frankly, it was making it difficult to do anything.

"I promise you, Draco Lucius Malfoy, that is the last thing I want to do." And with his hand holding the bleeding boys head, Potter leaned over to give him a long, slow kiss. He realized, with a sick, twisted irony, that had he been in his right mind, he would have hexed Potter six ways to Sunday had he tried this, but now his only wish was to be fully awake so he could actually enjoy what was happening.

He fell asleep to Potter calling for Severus.

* * *

In the halls, a figure in black swept past.

"Professor Snape, please! You have to help!" The moment Snape recognized his godson's bleeding form, he shoved Harry out of the way and began muttering. Harry didn't realize he had been holding his breath until the angry red of blood on Draco's white shirt began to disappear.

"Draco? Draco, please—."

"What were you doing to my godson, Potter? Where did you learn that spell?" Harry ran to his book bag, shoved underneath one of the miraculously dry stalls, and pulled the Half-Blood Prince's book out.

"Take it, please. I can't stand knowing that I hurt him using one of those awful spells." Tears streaked his eyes and he pushed back Draco's wet, blonde hair, praying for his eyes to open. Even though his breathing had evened out and the tortured look of pain no longer encompassed his features, Harry would not be at rest until those mysterious eyes opened and were pinned on him in a glare once more.

"You didn't know what that spell would do, Potter?" The sneer was still present, but there was no real malice in the question; just curiosity. Harry was too focused on Draco to realize.

"No! I would never do something like that to anyone, especially Draco!" One dark eyebrow rose.

"And why, pray tell, are you calling my godson by his given name?" Tears sprang anew from his eyes.

"Because I love him, Snape." And, with that, he grabbed his bag and ran to the first place he could think of, hanging over the edge and crying, begging for something, anything, to take him away. A freak storm, a random Death Eater, a rusty bolt so the railing fell; anything to take him from this misery.

Because Draco Malfoy the Death Eater wasn't allowed to love Harry Potter the Boy-Who-Lived, regardless of whether or not he wanted to. Harry Potter could do anything as long as it didn't interfere with the Prophecy, but society and Voldemort would never leave them alone, and Draco didn't deserve such a dysfunctional relationship.

Even if he _did _want one.

Sighing, Harry sat, swinging his legs out over the edge and taking in the scenery and his height. He loved being so close to the sky. Flying would be ideal, but Dumbledore's security measures made that quite impossible.

The complete disappearance of oxygen in higher up levels gave Harry a natural high that made him giddy. He could act like a complete idiot and no one was up here to say anything, but, more than that, he felt completely normal. He never felt completely comfortable on the ground the way he did in the air.

The sun set over the mountains, and he contemplated the colors that blended together so naturally to make something so beautiful.

"Merlin, I'm turning into such a girl." When the sun finally disappeared completely, he turned so he was lying flat on the cold stone, observing the different star formations. He found the first star he always located in the night sky, Sirius, and smiled, remembering his godfather. Draco was lucky to still have his.

Draco.

A tear escaped his eye and his mind escaped to drift through tormented territory once more, wondering if the Slytherin was okay. Had Snape fully healed him? Was he resting in the infirmary? His friends would surely come after him once they heard what had happened; no one got away with hurting their precious Malfoy.

For a moment, he wished he had allowed the sorting hat to place him in the snake house so he would have no worries about showing affection for the blonde. But, of course, he was Harry Potter; he could have nothing he wanted or it would distract him from his one true destiny of defeating the Dark Lord.

It struck Harry as ironic that if he had never been brought back into the world of Wizardry, Voldemort would have never returned; he would not have been able to participate in the Triwizard Tournament that brought about Voldemort's return.

But he never would have met Sirius either. Although Sirius would not have died; nor would Cedric.

Bloody hell, his life was full of guilt.

"It's a wonderful place to think, isn't it, Potter?" He sat up so fast his head made solid contact with the bottom level of the railing. Cursing, he sat up to confirm his suspicions; Draco stood at the top of the stairs, one eyebrow raised in blatant mockery.

"Shove it, Malfoy."

"Such language. You should be kinder to someone you almost accidentally murdered in a girls' bathroom." Suddenly nauseated with himself, he set to looking back out at the stars, determined not to speak for the rest of the night, lest another fight break out.

* * *

Snape had set to interrogating him the moment he woke up. He only answered what he hoped would not incriminate Potter. That they had had a simple duel, a few things were broken, and Potter's throwing of the spell had seemed accidental; he did not seem to know what it did.

He kept out any mention of Potter's revelation and the kiss.

Snape held him back for several more minutes, which turned into hours. After performing repairing spells on all the pipes, toilets, sinks, and stalls, Snape had locked the bathroom door and glared at him for several minutes before demanding answers to any and all questions.

Draco, realizing the only way he would get out would be to tell the man everything, relented. None of it mattered anyways. He wasn't going to go through with any of it.

He told him about the Vanishing Cabinets. About the plan to smuggle in Death Eaters. About his failed attempts.

And he told him that he would have to fulfill the Unbreakable Vow, because he no longer wanted any part in any of it.

At this, Severus seemed stunned, and Draco took the opportunity to cast a blasting spell on the door, escaping for his favorite place in the castle, the Astronomy Tower, only to discover it was already occupied.

"It's a wonderful place to think, isn't it, Potter?" The object of his thoughts had been on his back, contemplating the stars far above them. His throat went dry as his eyes roamed the other boy's figure before it jumped, an audible crack resounding when the railing and his forehead made contact. Stifling a laugh, he simply raised an eyebrow and met the green eyes.

"Shove it, Malfoy." Such a temper; Draco loved how easy it was to set him off.

"Such language. You should be kinder to someone you almost accidentally murdered in a girls' bathroom." The open, pissed-off expression on Harry's face sobered and he lay back down. He had brilliantly managed to accomplish what he thought was impossible; he had shut the Boy-Who-Lived up. However, it was hardly what he wanted at this exact moment.

"Really, Potter, you've no need to be speechless. I'm more than willing to hear your opinions on the subject." Nothing. He would need to get the other boy talking if they were going to discuss the Gryffindor's confession and bold moves.

Sighing, he relaxed onto the floor next to the other teen, stargazing along with him.

"Make you realize just how small you are, don't they?" Draco enjoyed the way the millions of lights in the sky glittered back. His mother had always said each star represented someone who had died and that whenever a star went supernova, it was that soul being born again, being given a brand new start.

He wondered what it was like to be star in the sky, watching everyone else experience happiness, sorrow, and love, and being unable to do anything until it was once again time to live.

"More like how insignificant," the black-haired boy finally responded. He smiled, but said nothing, willing him to continue. He did not disappoint. "No matter what you or I do, the world is going to continue. Sure, we as people may be more sad or happier, depending on which way the war goes, but the stars are going to continue to shine, the sun is going to rise and set every day, and there will still be 365 days in the year. Nothing changes."

"I don't believe that," Draco said smirking. "And neither do you. You can try and rationalize wanting this all to be over, wanting someone else to take over, but in the end, you don't need to. It's completely understandable that you just want to be normal, Potter. Other people go through life wanting more; you don't want anything. If anything, you want less. And that's what makes you special."

"I swear, Malfoy, if you start toting on about my amazing capacity to love, I'll throw you off this goddamned tower."

"It's charmed with a safety spell; I'd land softly anyways. And you do have an amazing capacity to love, Potter. Take, for instance, loving me." He sat up and looked down into Potter's eyes. "I'd say that would take a pretty significant capacity, wouldn't you?"

"No. Despite your Slytherin tendencies, you're brave, you stand up for what you believe, and you've got a sense of humor that rivals any I've seen. Just because you're on the other side of the war doesn't mean you're any less deserving of love than anyone else; you don't relish senseless killing, and that's why. Bellatrix Lestrange; not deserving of love." Potter's tone held such malice, Draco was glad that, for once, it was not directed at him.

"You're also very handsome, which helps. What's not to love?"

"Exactly that, Potter. I'm on the other side of this war. You shouldn't love me." Potter rolled his eyes and glared at the stars.

"When have I ever done what I was supposed to?" Draco snorted, taking one hand and tilting Potter's head to face his.

"True. And it seems, Potter, that you're rubbing off on me." He leaned down to give the Gryffindor a light kiss.

"Harry." Draco knew what he meant, but he wasn't quite ready to acknowledge it; they were quite to the level of first names yet just because of a kiss or two. Instead of answering, he leaned back down to press their lips together firmly.

Potter rose from his position on the floor to wrap his arms around Draco's neck.

This was wrong. Not more than a few hours ago, Draco had been resigned to killing Albus Dumbledore, Potter's idol. Now, he was sitting here, close to midnight, snogging the boy in the Astronomy Tower.

It was selfish of him, toying with Potter. The boy had outright said he loved him, given him reasons, pure evidence of said love, and Draco was ignoring his feelings. The only recognition he gave to Potter's feelings was to pretend to reciprocate them by kissing him.

But kissing meant nothing. Draco just needed to know something somewhere was still good, still pure, and even if that meant tainting it, Draco was determined to have it. He was determined to have Potter. Not in the sense that Potter wanted, the sense where each gave freely and loved without restrictions.

He wanted Potter to be his, to have that sense of innocence, and even if he couldn't have it himself, he would get as close as he could

He felt ill again, depraved in a way, like what he was doing was corrupt; and it was. Draco was, essentially, corrupting the Boy-Who-Lived, because when Potter figured out what he was doing, it would break him, and that innocence, or what was left after so many deaths in his life, would be gone, shattered.

But he didn't care, because even if he didn't love Potter, Potter loved him, and this, being with Draco, made the boy feel loved. It gave him what he wanted and it gave Draco the power over something that he so desperately wanted, so why couldn't both of them enjoy it while it lasted?

Pulling away, he looked at Potter.

"It's getting late; we need to go back to our dormitories." Potter nodded, well aware that the two of them could not afford to be caught.

Draco could not believe the day he had had. After everything that had gone wrong, something was starting to drift towards the right, no matter how depraved and immoral his sense of right was.

And then Potter said all he needed to remind Draco of just how wrong he was.

"I love you, Draco." Rather than answer directly, Draco turned left to go to the Slytherin dorms where Potter would turn right to return to Gryffindor. Realizing the boy would not move until he received some sort of answer, he sighed.

"Goodnight, Potter."

* * *

Goodnight? That was it? And he still called him Potter, not Harry as he had suggested, or begged it had seemed like.

Harry shook his head. He should have known the Slytherin would just consider this a chance to play with his emotions, to feel a sense of power over the Boy-Who-Lived. He didn't really care about Harry, and how could he? After all, he had said it himself that Harry had very nearly killed him in the bathroom. Who could love someone that almost killed them, accident or not?

Feeling more depressed than he had when he entered the Astronomy Tower, Harry made his way to Gryffindor Tower beneath the safety of his Invisibility Cloak. Along the way, he began to realize all the stupid mistakes he had made when talking to Draco.

He should have realized straight off the bat something was up when Draco actually came to talk to him after nearly being murdered in the girls' bathroom. Especially when he wasn't trying to kill Harry back.

Then, he almost seemed saddened when Harry decided not to talk and attempted to get something, anything, out of him. Regardless of the fact that Harry had not wanted to say anything, something about the way Draco had talked about the stars reflected the same longing Harry had, and, for some reason, he had allowed himself to open himself up to the very person he would love to use what he said against him. He hadn't really given away any weaknesses; only simple needs and wants. Draco, though, had quelled his insecurities and helped, making Harry believe, if only for a brief moment, that Draco actually cared for him. Maybe not in the way that Harry cared for him, but perhaps, one day…

And the kiss had been far better now that Draco could actually participate, but now, after his hormones had calmed down a bit, he realized something had changed with that second kiss after he asked the blonde to call him by his given name.

The kiss had become more intense, but stiff, as though Draco was hiding something from him. Had Harry ruined everything by asking Draco to call him by his first name? Hardly; that response would have come about eventually. The only difference was that Harry knew about it now rather than later.

And when someone says goodnight the way Draco had, it becomes exceedingly clear that they don't want to reciprocate any feelings of love. Draco was distancing himself, and Harry wanted to know why, but keeping himself up about it all night would help nothing, so he would sleep soundly and deal with Draco in the morning.

Or he thought he would until a school owl flew into him, dropping a piece of parchment on the ground.

_Harry—_

_Meet me in my office immediately._

_—Albus_

Even Dumbledore called him by his given name, although that was more of a grandfatherly relationship than the friendship he wanted with Draco.

Walking into the office, Harry took another glance down at the note; Dumbledore had signed the note Albus. Not Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but Albus; like a friend.

Grinning, Harry recognized at least one victory that night; too bad it wasn't the one he had been aiming for.

"Harry, you remember I told you a few days back about a Horcrux I was attempting to locate?" Harry nodded. "I have found it, but I am unable to acquire it without assistance. I am asking for your assistance on a condition; no matter what I tell you, you will obey."

"Understood, Professor."

"Albus."

"Understood, Albus."

"If I tell you to hide or run and save yourself, you do so without question."

"I understand, sir." One aged eyebrow rose. How many raised eyebrows was he going to have to deal with? "Albus."

"Very good, Harry. Take hold of my hand."

"I thought you couldn't apparate in Hogwarts." The blue eyes twinkled as they had not done in awhile.

"An advantage of being me, dear boy. Hold tight now." A loud crack rang through Hogwarts, and as Harry stared out at the dark, whipping ocean and hidden cave, he wondered just what he had gotten himself into.

Thank Merlin he was with Dumbledore.

* * *

"Severus, what is the meaning of this?" Draco found himself locked in his godfather's quarters. Walking back from the Tower, he had been preparing to say the password when he was stunned from behind and levitated to the room. After unceremoniously being dropped to land on his backside, he mumbled about inconsiderate Potion Masters before asking what his problem was.

"The Dark Lord, or rather, a messenger acting for him, as insisted your plan, whatever it may be, happens tonight. It seems he has a bad feeling about something that is going to happen tonight involving Dumbledore and would prefer his premonition to not come to fruition." Draco forced a scowl onto his face, but he was concerned; his plan had involved endangering all of Hogwarts, endangering Potter.

Damn his thoughts, always leading back to the Gryffindor.

"Severus, I cannot follow through."

"Maybe not before, but you've told me your plan now and I can help. I shall contact Minerva and ensure that all students are locked in their dormitories; no one shall be allowed in or out. You will pick only three Death Eaters, the three most loyal to Voldemort, to join you in Hogwarts, claiming you only wish the most loyal to join. Two of these will be Bellatrix Lestrange and Fenrir Greyback."

"And the third?"

"Is already here," Severus replied, indicating himself. "This part is extremely important, Draco. Dumbledore, when you confront him, is going to insist that you are too cowardly, and he will try and help you come to the light side. Disarm him, but that is all. Wait for me; I need to finish the job."

"What! I knew it; you only wanted my glory!" Severus shook his head.

"I hardly want to follow through on this, Draco. I have sworn—."

"The Unbreakable Vow, yes, I know."

"No, Draco, I have sworn two Unbreakable Vows; one to your mother and one to the Headmaster to kill him so that you cannot."

"Why?"

"He has known from the beginning of the year, Draco, of your plan. He has done his best to dissuade Potter from it and convince you to change without alerting you to his attempts; it seems Potter turned out to be useful for once. He does not want you to be found guilty for his death, not when he can accomplish his goals without either of us ending up in Azkaban." Draco shook his head.

This was insanity; how could Dumbledore work out such an elaborate scheme and not have any repercussions behind it? It was madness, and Draco wanted no part, but he was still Slytherin enough to recognize the basis of the plan; he would stay in the inner circle, keep both himself and his mother alive, and still be able to come to the Light side, should he choose to do so.

But Potter would not know the truth. Draco's betrayal would shatter him, and not in the way Draco had thought would eventually happen.

"Potter will break," Draco murmured.

"Potter will survive," Severus claimed, waving him off. "If anything, Dumbledore's death will inspire him to do what he must to finish this once and for all."

"I'm not talking about Dumbledore, Severus! I'm talking about me; if I switch sides again, even if it is trickery, Potter will believe it. He would break from the betrayal."

"And why would your position in this war make any difference?" Draco looked down at his well-polished shoes.

"Because he loves me, Severus. You know this; I heard you two talking."

"I had been hoping you did not; it makes your decision in this harder to accept." The man was frowning, rubbing his temples firmly, and looking as though all he wanted to do was disappear. "You must realize, Draco, that you have no choice in the matter. It is this or death, for both you and your mother."

"But why does Potter have to believe what the Dark Lord believes? Why can't we tell him the truth?"

"Because his Occlumency skills are atrocious."

"You told me Dumbledore re-taught him and his skills are satisfactory," the blonde smirked, congratulating himself for catching the man in a lie. "You also said the Dark Lord has stopped entering Potter's mind because it was causing him mental anguish; you were brewing headache potions faster than the ingredients were growing."

Slowly, Severus' defenses were crashing; a few more minutes of good arguments and he would concede to letting Draco write a letter, explaining everything.

"I will write the letter." Not quite what he was going for, but it was a start. "If you write it, you may do something to crush the boy's feelings, whether it be leaving out some trite emotional thing or a misplaced word. Coming from someone he loves, the letter will seem like a goodbye. Coming from me, the letter will be just that. You prepare your note for Mr. Borgin; let the Death Eaters waiting know anyone who is not Bellatrix or Fenrir will be cursed upon arrival and sent back." Draco nodded; it wasn't what he wanted, but it was as close as he would get.

"Severus, I'm going to send the letter through the cabinet." The man nodded. "Severus," Draco said cautiously, wanting an answer before he left, "why did you say McGonagall would take care of students; why not Dumbledore himself?"

"Because he will be gone until late tonight. Which is why we will not be allowing in the Death Eaters until I register his presence in the Astronomy Tower; you will be waiting there for them."

"Them?" Severus allowed his cold eyes to meet Draco's, and he instantly knew, although Severus responded regardless.

"Potter is with him."

* * *

"Albus, I really hate apparating," Harry muttered, straining to lead the Headmaster to a bench; he ignored his surroundings, afraid of throwing a royal fit when he remembered his encounter with Draco…Malfoy. He couldn't call him by his given name if Malfoy did not reciprocate.

"Harry, you need to find Severus. Speak to no one else, but bring me Severus." Harry nodded, heading for the spiral staircase, but he stopped when light footsteps were heard on the other. "Hide below, and do nothing unless I directly say so, understood?"

He complied and stood below, glancing up to see the intruder had been Malfoy; the Slytherin had lied to him. He was here to finish off the Professor, and Albus had no more ability complete a defense spell than a muggle.

_"Expelliarmus!"_ Malfoy did nothing after the disarming spell, least of all _Accio_ the wand that had flown from Albus' hand.

"You are not one of them, Draco." Harry suppressed a shudder at the name, and suppressed the urge to vomit at what happened next.

"But I am, old man! If I don't do this, if I don't kill you, they'll kill me!" Malfoy had shoved the left sleeve of his black suit jacket up; Harry ignored how handsome and sharp he looked in those black suits.

"You do not have to do anything you don't want to, Draco. It is a matter of choice; and you are not a killer." Harry's heart shattered when the tears began streaming down the boy's face. He lifted his wand, prepared to stun Malfoy, but stopped at the look on Albus' face, who knew what was racing through Harry's head.

He turned to look back at Malfoy, but stopped when he saw a figure clad in black with a finger raised to its lips; Snape. Harry nodded, realizing Snape was here to help Albus and waited for the entire thing to get sorted out.

"Congratulations, Draco! He's got him, he's got Dumbledore!" A surge of fury raced through every vein in Harry at the screeching of Bellatrix Lestrange's shrill voice, urging Malfoy to finish his job.

"No." Snape's calm, collected voice echoed and all the noise ceased. _This is it; Snape is going to get Bellatrix for me._

"Severus, please."

_"Avada Kedavra."_ The brief exchange took only a few seconds, but to Harry, it stretched an eternity. Albus had pleaded with the man, and he…he…how could he?

The fury he had felt at seeing Bellatrix paled to what he felt now; Malfoy and Snape betrayed Albus, betrayed Hogwarts, and betrayed him. He had trusted them as far as he could, and they turned around…

Pure, undiluted anger pulsed through him, and he followed the four black figures, ignoring everything and anything in his way, including fallen teachers and some asking why he, a student, was not secured in the dorms. Nothing mattered except the fact that Snape was escaping, and Harry would let neither him nor Malfoy get farther than the forest.

"Snape! Come back and fight you coward!_ Expelliarmus!_" His spell disarming spell hit Malfoy instead, and though he felt a twinge of regret, he shoved it down with malice, continuing towards the Death Eaters full speed. A jet of red light halted his progress and sent him flying into the trunk of an oak tree. The corner of his eye was tinged with red from the thin stream crawling down his forehead, but he could still see Fenrir sending a jet of flames at Hagrid's hut, Malfoy scuttling for his wand, and Bellatrix cackling, wand drawn and aimed where he had been moments previous.

"No! He is for the Dark Lord! Take Draco and run, Bella!" The woman scowled and forced Malfoy ahead of her, Fenrir following behind.

"Now, Potter…"

_"Sectum—Stupefy!"_ Harry could tell Snape did not miss the near escape of that cursed spell and the change to a simple stunner. Honestly, Harry could not bring himself to see the effects of that spell again, no matter what Snape had done. It would only remind him of what he had done to Malfoy, but hadn't Malfoy betrayed him?

Even as Snape deflected the spell, even as he deflected the return curse Snape shot at him, he thought back to the blonde. Malfoy had never said he would not follow through, had never said he would switch sides; he had never claimed to love Harry. Malfoy owed Harry nothing other than an explanation as to why he kissed him, and now, Harry didn't even want that; he just wanted revenge, but he couldn't bring himself to follow through.

If he couldn't fire off a Sectumsempra, how was he to muster up the desire to cast a Cruciatus or a Killing Curse?

The two were still firing stunners and shield charms, first year attempts at dueling, and Harry began to realize Snape wasn't trying to kill or even incapacitate him; if he was completely honest, Harry wasn't even sending full strength stunners, and neither was Snape. It was as though it was merely show for anyone watching.

Harry suddenly caught Snape sending him a wink, followed by two stunners, in such rapid succession, that Harry did not have time to reactivate his shield charm after the first one dissolved from the impact of the first.

Snape walked forward and kicked his wand a few feet before leaning down and placing a thick envelope sealed with the Snape crest in Harry's open hand.

"Maybe you're not as much like your father as I thought, Potter. We are sorry."

_"Expelliarmus."_ Harry somehow managed to wandlessly disarm the former Professor, amazing both of them. He felt weakened, though, and his eyes closed, though he was still conscious.

When he opened his eyes again a few moments later, Snape had grabbed his wand and had followed the other Death Eaters path through the forest until he reached the point the others had apparated from.

The ear-splitting crack of Snape apparating was the last thing he heard before he blacked out.

* * *

_"Sectum—Stupefy!"_ Severus had not been oblivious; he noticed Potter's obvious change in spells. It seemed he was not as willing to use such dangerous spells on an enemy as his father, even though this time, Severus was technically a real enemy and not a childish school rival.

The two exchanged stunners and shield charms, a childish imitation of a duel that first years could have done better, which led Severus to believe Potter did not think the man was truly his enemy; neither were firing off any spells to the best of their ability. One of them would have been incapacitated for sure at this point if they had.

Bellatrix and Fenrir would be suspicious why he was taking so long with Potter if they kept up much longer, and if Draco believed one of them had been injured, he would throw caution to the wind and come to ensure both their safety, putting both in a dangerous position.

Hoping Potter caught his signal, he winked and sent two stunners, both low energy, at the boy in rapid succession to make sure he didn't get the chance to shield both. Draco would murder him for throwing the Gryffindor from his feet; deny it all he liked, his godson loved Potter as much as the other did.

Calculating the amount of time he had left in his head quickly, Severus kicked Potter's wand far enough that he couldn't grab it, but close enough so he could find it easily.

Making a split-second decision, Severus knelt down and placed the thick letter in Potter's hand.

"Maybe you're not as much like your father as I thought, Potter." It was true; his lack of resolve to use the curse and his lack of desire to actually see Severus or Draco hurt or severely humiliated was a complete one-eighty from his father who had done everything he could to embarrass Severus. The only reason the elder Potter had withdrawn most of his attacks had been Evans and her disapproving looks.

"We are sorry," he said quietly, speaking for Draco in addition to himself.

_"Expelliarmus!" _ Potter's spell hit him, but it seemed to be such a last ditch, harmless effort, that Severus did not reciprocate, choosing instead to simply retrieve his wand when the boy closed his eyes, drained from the effort of that one spell. His robes billowed behind him as he swept them along, hurrying to the disapparation point just in the middle of the forest that Albus had kept should anything happen.

Something had happened alright.

"Severus, did you…?"

"Potter is for the Dark Lord," Severus said, reciting his carefully schooled reply should Bellatrix be lurking. "Why did you not apparate with Bella, Draco?"

"I…wanted to make sure…Potter didn't get in any good hits." Severus knew what was really meant. "Besides, that woman is vile; mother always said so. Just because we're on her side of the war doesn't mean I have to like her; the same way I don't like Fenrir and his habit of changing my classmates."

"Agreed. Fenrir is only barely kept from attacking the Slytherins, and most of them are on the Dark Lord's side. But, as you said, they are on…our side. We must go, Draco, before Potter regains use of his limbs and comes." Draco nodded solemnly, grasping Severus' elbow.

"I'm ready." They disappeared with a loud crack. The short time it took was enough for both Severus and Draco to school their features appropriately.

Upon arrival, the two of them dropped to their knees, though Draco wobbled a bit from the apparation. The Dark Lord gave him a knowing grin, causing Draco to nearly vomit, but he kept his head bowed.

"Congratulations, my loyal followers. You two have done the impossible; together, you have defeated my once strong nemesis. My followers, Albus Dumbledore is dead!" A unanimous cheer rose from the dark and dingy room; the basement of Riddle Manor.

"Tonight, we celebrate in honor of Draco Malfoy, who smuggled Bella and Fenrir into the castle and disarmed Dumbledore, and Severus Snape, who finished the job!" More applause, most of it for two people who resented every millisecond of it, rose from the black-clad group.

"Celebrate indeed," Severus murmured to Draco as they passed one another. "My Lord, may I request Draco and I be given a few brief moments to change and clean up from the attack; the Forest is filled with things I care not to mention or remember." Voldemort laughed.

"Of course. We shall expect you down shortly." Severus indicated for Draco to follow and the two dealt with shaking multiple hands as they passed, disgusted with every new person who stuck their hand out, but more with themselves; if they had only had the willpower to resist at first, none of this would have happened.

Severus' mentor and father figure would still be alive, and even if he was not, Severus would have at least been able to attend the funeral.

Draco would not have to pretend to despise the only person who had ever truly loved him, and that person would not hate him.

But it was too late; they could only continue on this path until the time came to change.

* * *

Harry woke a few minutes later, realizing Albus' form was still lying on the bottom of the Astronomy Tower; he had to be there before everyone realized what was going on, or they'd never allow him to get anywhere close.

Mustering as much strength as he could, he found the adrenaline to push himself to reach the base of the Tower as Professor McGonagall emerged from the side door.

"Potter, what are you—Albus!" Harry still reached him a fair few seconds before McGonagall, and he passed his hand over the Headmaster's face, closing the dulling, emotionless eyes.

"It was Snape," he muttered darkly. "Malfoy let the Death Eaters in through the Vanishing Cabinet and Snape finished the job."

"Mister Potter, now is not the time to…"

"I was there, Professor! I was underneath the platform in the Tower; I saw Malfoy, I heard Snape!" If only they had listened to him before; but Albus had said he knew what was happening. Cursing the Headmaster's omniscience for what felt like the hundredth time, he fell over the man's body, crying on his chest.

His heart constricted painfully; he had lost the only two people in the world who were anything remotely close to a real family. Sure, the Weasley's were close, but they were all his friends. Sirius had been like a father; Albus was like his grandfather. Both were his friends, and both were now gone.

"It's not fair," he sobbed, realizing, but not caring, that the front of the Albus' robes was stained with his tears.

Students were finally emerging from the castle to figure out what was going on, glad to be released from their dormitories. A few students became a large crowd, and Harry, without realizing it, put up a barrier to keep the students from getting closer than McGonagall was standing; Harry did not want anyone near him.

They didn't really know him, Harry realized. They could say they loved having him as a Headmaster, and that they would miss him, but not one of them, not even a fair few teachers, really understood anything about the man.

For instance, Harry knew he was the only other person besides Snape privy to the fact that the lemon drops Albus always offered were dipped in Veritaserum, and that was only because Snape had questioned him on where the truth serum kept disappearing to.

No one knew that, while he pretending to be looking over important documents, Albus preferred to come up with odd words of advice to say at different feasts and to students or teachers, should they come to him with a problem. He always liked to leave them confused about something that had nothing to do with why they came in.

And no one else besides Snape knew of the Horcruxes. No one knew where the two of them had been that night. No one else would have been allowed to completely demolish Albus' office the way Harry had the night Sirius died.

No one else in the entire castle could walk up to Albus' gargoyle and be let in automatically without a password; even the Professors needed the password.

Even now, when Minerva McGonagall, as Deputy Headmistress, would be considered the new Head of the school, the gargoyle would leap aside the minute Harry said he needed in; Albus had assured him of it.

No one knew him the way Harry had, and no other student had a right to gawk at his prone form from anywhere closer than ten feet, which was where he set the barrier.

Harry felt a presence in his mind and blocked it, but realized what it was.

_"A-Albus?"_

_"The mind is always the last thing to go when you die, Harry."_ The presence seemed amused, despite the fact that it, in all honesty, should not have been there. _"Ironic, considering it tends to be the first thing to go whilst we live."_

_"But, how?"_

_"My brain waves are still functioning, Harry. I apologize for my conceit, but I am a powerful wizard; I can still use this brief spell due to my ability to wandlessly and wordlessly spell-cast. I have one last request, Harry. Summon my wand and put it in my hands, but use that as a distraction. When you move my hands, take Gaunt's ring and the one to the left of it. You will need Gaunt's and I've been holding the other for you for a few years now."_

_"Albus, I—."_

_"I know, Harry. I'm sorry; I should have told you everything, but Severus has. In the letter."_

_"How did you know about that?"_

_"Fawkes informed me; he was watching Severus this evening to make sure nothing happened. I decided it was important for you to know everything in the letter, which is why I did not request Fawkes to burn it."_

_"So Snape isn't a traitor?"_

_"No, but the Order and everyone else, even Mister Weasley and Miss Granger, must think that way. You understand."_

_"Yes. I love you, Albus, as a grandfather, a mentor, and a friend. Thank you for everything you've ever done for me."_ Harry began crying harder, clasping Albus' cold and stiffening hand.

_"I've loved you as a son, Harry."_ If Albus had been anything more than a presence, Harry was sure he would have been crying. As it was, he could hear the sorrow. _"And I'm sorry for everything I've done; you deserved more than what I could and did give you."_

_"You gave me everything I needed. Just because I may have wanted something different doesn't mean what you gave me wasn't important. I have nothing more to do but thank you."_

_"Goodbye, Harry. We will meet again, not in the way you think, but soon. And after that, hopefully not soon."_

_"You know something again."_

_"Professor Trelawney may have made another Prophecy."_ A moment that, had he been alive, would have Albus' eyes twinkling.

_"Blasted woman. I don't suppose I could ask?"_

_"She does not remember. You will see."_

_"Goodbye, Albus."_

_"Goodbye, Harry."_ He still felt the presence, but only mere moments longer. When it left, Harry was sure; Albus Dumbledore would not come back.

_"Accio Albus' wand!"_ He registered gasps from the students at his use of the Headmaster's first name, but he ignored it; Albus was not his Headmaster any longer, and if he was completely honest, he had not been for awhile. This year, they had become friends. Family.

He slipped the wand between the frozen hands of his mentor, wondering at the lack of familiarity of the wand—it did not seem like the one Albus always used—simultaneously slipping the two rings off. Gaunt's, slightly dirty with its cracked black stone, shone dangerously as he slipped it to his right ring finger, the same place it had rested on Albus' hand.

The other was the Potter family ring, a solid gold band with rubies encrusted. On the inside, burning scarlet at his touch, were the words 'amor vincit omnia.' He slipped it onto his left ring finger, gasping when 'I Must Not Tell Lies' disappeared to be replaced by 'Love Conquers All.'

Harry stood and staggered from the scene, the students parting for him when he reached the crowd. Fawkes had begun his sad song, the notes piercing the night air, and Harry raised his wand to the sky. The others followed his example, in honor of Albus, and together, the light from their wands caused the Dark Mark Bellatrix had shot to disappear.

A strong feeling took hold and Harry shot his own spell into the air. For a moment, students looked in fear at him, for the spell, green, had looked like the Dark Mark spell; why would he shoot that back into the sky?

Shortly after, he conjured his Patronus to run with Fawkes in honor of Albus, but he was surprised to find that, like Tonks, his Patronus had changed. Prongs was still there, but now, a Phoenix, Albus as Harry named him, perched on one antler with a lily wrapped around the neck. A grim stood to the stag's left.

As he set the three animals off to follow Fawkes, he realized it had been before Sirius that Harry had cast his last Patronus; of course it would change now that Sirius and Albus were gone.

Around him, there was a mixture of awe, confusion, and laughter. The awe, no doubt, came from the Patronus', but he realized the latter two were coming from the jet he had cast at the sky. He sighed; he had only meant to send a light into the sky to follow Albus.

Suddenly, Harry found himself one of the individuals laughing. His blast of light had exploded into red and gold fireworks, disappearing in a spattering of stars and the appearance of a new one in the center of a figure that, he realized from Astronomy was Capricorn, the goat. The light shone brightly, illuminating what looked like an eye of the goat.

It certainly explained why Hermione could never find Albus' name in the Ministry's registered Animagus records or why he insisted on going everywhere invisible; who would want to transform into a goat?

Albus had once told him it was difficult to determine what Harry would be; a lion would be far too obvious and he wasn't as headstrong. A loyal badger was only loyal, and Harry had too many other qualities that would dissuade that. He was certainly not a snake just because of Voldemort's curse. He was loyal, courageous, brave, and forgiving. He was playful, but knew how to be serious, and always ready to help.

Harry had been desperate to know what he would be, so Albus cast a personality spell. Both had been surprised, but agreeing, when a silver wolf began circling Harry.

They were protective, fiercely, and loyal to their mates and the ones they loved. It really did fit.

Albus had said he would help train Harry to become an Animagus; he had known he would never make it. Harry couldn't bring himself to think anything ill of the man presently, though, especially considering he had just discovered his form had been a goat.

How unfortunate; the most powerful wizard in the world, a goat?

Suddenly unable to look at Albus' prone form, he walked back to the school, hoping no one tried to follow him. Following the memorized route to the Head office, he found himself in front of the gargoyle, which, true to Albus' word, sprang aside in an instant.

"Harry." He spun around, nonplussed. Surely he hadn't just heard Albus Dumbledore's voice. "Over here, dear boy." There, above McGonagall's new chair, was a golden-framed portrait, a lifelike painting of the previous Headmaster staring out at him; the artist even had gotten the twinkling eyes down.

"You realize, Albus, now that I know you're here, it may be difficult for me to not come up here every five minutes." Those twinkling eyes were fixated on him once more.

"I have faith in you, Harry. You know what you need to do." He nodded. "Now, Harry, I know you've always found my cryptic remarks to be, well, cryptic, but for once, I'm going to explain this one.

"You know what you need to do, and you must do it alone, but with help. Hermione and Ron cannot come with you, but I, in a sense, shall. Go to the desk and open the top right drawer where Riddle's diary is." Harry complied.

"Take the wand, diary, and the book with my name on it." The inky, stained diary looked horrible, but he forgot it quickly when he picked up the wand.

The warm feeling he had felt when he picked up his wand at Olivander's before his first year was nothing compared to this; Albus' true wand.

"The wand you had this evening…it wasn't yours." The man nodded. "So why did you want to be buried with it?"

"Because this wand is now yours. Unfortunately, you'll have to go through the trouble of finding Mr. Malfoy and disarming him in some way; the wand can only truly be yours if you defeat its previous owner."

"But wouldn't that be you? Or Snape, now that he's…well…"

"I'm fairly sure Mr. Malfoy disarmed me beforehand, which makes the wand his."

"But I disarmed him!" Accidentally, of course, but why mention that? "And then I disarmed Snape after he stunned me." Albus looked overjoyed.

"Then the wand already is yours. You'll need it, Harry; we cannot risk the _priori incantatem _happening again, for Voldemort may have discovered how to use it against you. This wand, it cannot be defeated, and now that you have two, you can fight back with the other and disarm those who attempt to defeat you. You must always stay in possession of this wand."

Harry looked at it, realizing what Albus had meant when he said he would always be with him. A fresh tear leaked from his eye, followed by more. How would he continue to do this job if Albus wasn't with him?

"The book, Harry." He could tell the portrait Albus would be crying if he could. "It's a journal I've kept. Not like Riddle's," he chuckled, spying Harry's uncomfortable look. "This one has everything already written in it; I cannot write back. Only you and I can access it, and I've permanently allowed my permission. You need only press your thumb against the lock," Harry did so, "and the book will open." Harry's signature wrote itself in gold across the cover.

The first thing Harry saw was a list of Horcruxes, two of which were already crossed out. The following pages were Albus' notes on where he suspected the remaining ones were.

"Harry, you need to leave," Albus suddenly interrupted him. "The Minister and Minerva are on their way up. Tell them you wanted to talk to me, that I told you my portrait would be here if anything happened. I, however, am going to pretend to be asleep for the moment." The portrait grinned. "I find I learn much more when others think I'm not listening." Harry returned the grin.

"That's called eavesdropping, Albus."

"Is it? I like to think of it as gathering intelligence."

"We'll talk soon, Albus." He recalled their roles being slightly reversed earlier, but how could this have anything to do with a Prophecy?

"Goodbye for now, Harry."

The wand and journals had barely been tucked away before the door moved open.

"Deeply troubling, Minerva, such a thing happening on Hogwarts' grounds! Death Eaters and a murder, very troubling."

"Shut up, Scrimgeour. You're starting to sound like Fudge, and we all know how great he did." Somehow, Harry knew it was the wrong thing to say, but the words they had at Christmas were still fresh, especially the ones regarding Albus.

"Harry Potter. I believe you know something," Scrimgeour glared, waving his hand over the door, locking it with a nonverbal spell, though not wandless; Harry saw the swish-and-flick.

"And I believe you have no business knowing what I know," Harry said, returning the snarky tone. _Brilliant, Potter. You've just pissed him off more._ "Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'm going to leave. I believe you and the new Headmistress have things to discuss."

"Potter, I had hoped we were past this distrust phase. You are almost of age; it is time to stop this foolishness." If this was the Minister's way of getting Harry to comply, it was hardly going to work.

"I'm still Dumbledore's man, through and through, Minister." Scrimgeour turned an ugly shade of purple, but smirked when Harry reached the door.

"You can't leave, Potter. Minerva has not been named official Headmistress, which means this office falls under Ministry jurisdiction. Come to think of it," the man sized up Harry, "how did you get in?"

Harry reached for the doorknob and threw a look over his shoulder at the flabbergasted _Minister_.

"It's magic."

* * *

Hermione looked at Ron as Harry walked towards the castle. From his stance, she could tell he didn't want to be followed.

Harry had disappeared that night, no warning whatsoever given, and she had seen him, standing over Professor Dumbledore's body. Tears flew freely down her face and she buried her face into Ron's shoulder.

Ron seemed to understand Harry's mood as well, because he simply held Hermione, watching his best friend's quick retreat to the castle.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the snake of a Minister, Rufus Scrimgeour. McGonagall followed him, seemingly pissed, but resigned to the fact that she would have to listen to him for a bit longer than she had wanted; which was not at all.

"Something wicked this way comes," he whispered. Hermione looked to see what had provoked such an odd line from him and froze when she did.

"Oh, shit. Harry probably went to Dumbledore's office, which is now—."

"—McGonagall's, which is where those two are headed which means—." They were both silent, both slowly, laughter erupted from the two of them despite the circumstances they were in.

"Harry's going to rip that man a new one." Ron looked at his girlfriend as of three hours ago.

"Hermione, can I please go watch?" She smacked him lightly.

"Boys; honestly!"

* * *

Harry had his rucksack packed no more than ten minutes after he entered his dormitory. He strapped his wand to his arm, and experimentally waved Albus'. He would need to learn how to use it, see if it had any differences from his.

The wand, he learned, was far more powerful than the average wand; his simple expanding charm, meant to triple the size of his rucksack, expanded it to fit nearly his entire dormitory. He could have fit his bed in if he wanted!

Instead, he placed his clothes, minus the robes, and his most basic bath needs; he could perform simple cleaning and refill charms after he turned seventeen. The fake Horcrux, the note from R.A.B., Riddle's diary, and the journal from Albus were added. He would have to stop somewhere and requisition a tent; smaller, of course, than the one from the Quidditch Cup, but still comfortable. Of course, that meant he would need to stop at Gringotts'.

It was amazing that even with all his supplies packed, he still felt as though nothing heavier than his usual school pack was in his hands. He remembered to put his Firebolt in, and, as he looked around the room, he realized he was going to miss it.

It was, after all, his home.

He made certain his invisibility cloak and the map were also in before performing a shrinking charm on the entire bag; it was small enough to fit in his pocket. He piled his books in the trunk and covered them with his robes, leaving out one set to wear to Albus' funeral. He had requested to say a few words, so he had to look semi-decent.

The Dursley's would lock away his trunk, a Wealey's Wizardly Wheezes wand tucked safely inside, thinking they had him where they wanted. His things would stay with him at all times, including his wands.

He had ordered Hedwig off, telling her he would think of her if he ever needed her; seeing as she was his familiar, she would come if he ever called. She flew to Mrs. Figgs', who had agreed to take care of her provided he paid for all her treats and such.

It would be a long month and a half before he could leave, but he would manage…somehow.

It was the funeral he didn't think he'd make it through.

* * *

"Will you be alright, Severus?" Draco looked at his godfather, seemingly alive, but broken inside; he could tell it had hurt to have to kill Dumbledore.

"I just wish," the man sighed, "I could go to the funeral."

"Maybe," Draco whispered, looking up at him. "Maybe you can." He held up a phial filled with an ugly brown substance. "But only for a few hours."

"You've forgotten your potion lessons, Draco. That would last one."

"Not if I nicked five of these. Slughorn needs to learn better protection skills; it was so easy to fill them."

"And who would I masquerade as, Draco?" Bracing himself, Draco held up the phial containing five strands of hair. He knew Severus would think he was off his rocker, but he couldn't watch him go through this.

"Slughorn?" It came as a complete surprise when Severus gave a sigh, disdainfully looked at the gray hairs and held out his hands.

"Do you know when the funeral is?"

"Tomorrow. The Dark Lord has given us free reign as long as we don't get caught; he needn't know where we are going. Besides, you could claim you went back for some important items you left in your office."

"Very well. And you?"

"I still have my father's invisibility cloak. I'll follow behind you." Severus nodded.

"Tomorrow, then. Hopefully, Potter has read the letter." Draco sighed. Everything had been going fine until he reality kicked in and the Dark Lord had forced all of this to happen. Why couldn't he have enjoyed at least a week more with Potter before all of this? And they had left on such bad terms; not to mention the Gryffindor had seen Draco aiming his wand at Dumbledore.

Yes, unless he read the letter and believed every word, he was doomed to never talk to the boy again. But what did he care? It's not as though he loved him.

"Severus, what exactly did you write in the letter?"

"The reasons behind my killing Albus. A few things I should have told him back when I was still a professor. Not much else."

"About me?"

"That your hand was forced, you weren't really trying to kill Albus, and that you are sorry." From the way Severus stared into his hands, Draco could tell it wasn't the whole truth, and he was worried to hear what else.

"And that you had not yet come to terms with your feelings, so it was imperative for him to not dwell over his own."

"Come to terms with my—? What feelings?"

"Admit it or not, the truth still stands; you love the boy, Draco." Blushing did not go well with pale Malfoy skin and bleach-blonde hair.

"You're out of your mind, Severus." Of course, the dark man would chuckle at that half-hearted attempt, but really! Draco Malfoy in love with Harry Potter?

Maybe the other way around, the loving Gryffindor falling for the corrupted Slytherin, but how could it go the other way? Impossible!

"You miss him."

"I miss having someone to piss off." He would just have to manage an excuse for anything Severus threw at him.

"You haven't stopped thinking of him since we got here."

"You haven't stopped thinking of Dumbledore."

"I killed him."

"I kissed him."

"You worry for his safety."

"I worry for yours."

"If he died…"

"…the Wizarding World would be doomed."

"Would you sacrifice yourself for him?"

"To save the magical community, yes." He could tell Severus was getting frustrated, but so was he; why was his godfather so determined to prove this.

"Whatever you wish to believe, Draco, feel free to do so. However, love is not a weakness; if Albus taught me anything, it was that. Denying this hurts you both, and it would be wise to sort your feelings out before you see him tomorrow.

For once, Draco had to agree with Potter; Severus could be a right git when he tried.

* * *

Two hours before the funeral, Harry still didn't have his eulogy written. How could he when the bloody letter kept staring back at him. He was going to end up improvising anyways.

Somewhere, Harry knew the letter was true, but at the same time, he didn't want to believe any of it. Because believing the letter was to believe Dumbledore knew he was going to die…and wanted to.

_Potter—_

_Albus Dumbledore once told me some very wise words; "One day, you will understand." Well, Potter, one day you very well might. Hopefully, with the aid of this letter, today will be that day, but we shall see._

_If you are reading this, Albus Dumbledore is dead, and Draco Malfoy and I have already fled. It also means you are feeling extremely tempted to pitch this into the fire; I would not blame you, but it might not be the most intelligent move on your part._

Even in a goddamn letter, Snape was taunting him.

_I did not murder Albus; in every respect of the word, it was suicide. The Dark Lord assigned Draco a task, to kill Dumbledore, so that his wand would be easily accessible; I can only hope you realize this means you need to get that wand._

One step ahead, Snape. Score one for, well, actually for Albus.

_My position as a spy was precarious at the start of this year; Bellatrix suspected me, and when Narcissa Malfoy contacted me, desperate for me to help Draco, refusing would have meant certain death for the both of us._

_So I swore the Unbreakable Vow; I assure you, the toilet and I became much better acquainted very shortly thereafter._

_When I informed Albus, he smiled at me, of all things. He said it fit into his plans quite nicely, and that, rather than find a way from the Vow, I should make sure Draco did not cast the final Killing curse. You see, Potter, he was dying._

_Failing to remove the hexes and curses on Marvolo Gaunt's ring before wearing it weakened him; he was going to die within the summer regardless, but if he could save Draco and secure my spy position, this would be a much better way to go out. I was instructed only to make sure Draco disarmed him before I killed him._

_Something only you and he know, I am sure._

_Draco and I are to remain in hiding, doing the Dark Lord's bidding, until the final battle when we are to defect to the Light side. We cannot communicate, so I apologize; you may not ask more questions._

_I was instructed to tell you a few things before I go into detail about other things; Dumbledore has left you the sword of Godric Gryffindor, but the Ministry will most likely take it, as it is not his to give. You need not worry; when you truly need it, it will come to you. From there, you may carry it with you; as you are Gryffindor's heir, it will come, and no Ministry wards are a match for Godric Gryffindor._

_He also left you a vault filled with valuables; not money, but other things he though you would enjoy. The key is inside another thing he has left you in the will; he was determined that you would figure that one out yourself._

_Onto slightly personal matters, there is a reason Draco is not writing this letter. Firstly, I know more on this subject and I was instructed to tell you this anyways. Draco could not have completed it satisfactorily._

_Secondly, I feel I owe you some explanations from both myself and one from Draco._

_I am sorry, Potter, for the way I treated you during your schooling. At first, it really was because I hated your father. I hated what he had stood for at school, I hated how he somehow managed to take my only friend and make her believe he was not the bigheaded bully he was, and I hated that you seemed just like him. I hated that I owed him a life-debt and that he died before I could fulfill it, meaning I was still connected to him when you came along._

_But after last year, when you viewed that memory, you looked sickened, not smug. You did not care that you saw your most hated professor in his awkward teenage days; you saw your father the way I did, and you felt not pity, but almost compassion for me. I do not care to know what your muggle protectors do to you, Potter, to understand why you felt empathy rather than sympathy for me, but I apologize Albus left you with them all these years._

_After that, it became second-nature to dislike you; I had to keep up the façade or junior Death Eaters would tell their parents and the entire operation would be blown out of the water, so to speak._

_I hope, if we both survive this blasted war, Potter, we could be friends. Perhaps it wouldn't be as bad as I originally conceived the notion._

_And Draco…do not push him, Potter. Draco does not love easily, and six years of animosity is hardly the proper start to a relationship. Maybe friends first, after this is all over? You may have come to terms with your preferences and the object of your affections, but Draco has grown up believing homosexuals are inferior and wrong simply because they cannot bare heirs, not to mention he was given the order to hate you for those six years._

_Please give him time; I'm not sure how much he will need, but be careful not to push it. Remember; you hurt him, I hurt you._

_Good luck in destroying the Horcruxes._

—_Severus Snape & Draco Malfoy_

It was oddly cheery, and yet; there was a combination of information and a tone of friendliness. It all seemed to add up; the way Malfoy and Snape acted, Albus' desire to keep Harry from knowing anything about them and dissuading any notions of betrayal.

He looked to his clock and wiped his face tiredly; half an hour until the funeral. Pulling the nondescript black robes with a phoenix crest over his head, he ran his hand through his messy, incurable hair before looking out the window.

Back in fourth year, Harry had realized if he sat at just the right angle, he could see the Headmaster's office. It always made him feel like he was safe, being somewhere Albus could keep an eye on him.

"Time to put on a damn good show," he muttered to himself.

Harry had overseen Albus' funeral preparations. He put charms on the invitations so the owls would notify anyone out of the country, the Daily Prophet ensured all of the United Kingdom knew, and word of mouth travels fast; anyone who should be at the funeral would be.

Harry had set up the apparation point, using Albus' wand, and had portkeys ready for people that would be staying in Hogsmeade. In forty-eight hours, Harry had taken his mind off everything by putting together the funeral of the year for his best friend; he put in even more effort than he thought possible to make up for the fact that a proper ceremony was not done for Sirius.

Finally, when all was said and done and people were seated, Harry looked around; a strange feeling crept up his spine as he looked around and saw Slughorn sitting near the back; the man loved being in the spotlight. Why would he be so far back when some of the people who had been on his shelf were so close to the front?

But the man looked at him, gave a brief nod, and centered his attention on Albus' body. Harry knew something was off; Slughorn hardly cared about Albus, and he never showed him the level of respect he was now. But Harry dismissed it and listened to the Ministry-appointed funeral speaker and McGonagall.

The speaker gave the cookie-cutter speech, a few noble words and interesting adjectives thrown in for good measure, but everyone could tell nothing was sincere about it.

Even McGonagall's speech was clear-cut and, while moving, hardly revealed anything about Albus as a person. It was all the same great wizard bullshit that everyone knew.

And then Harry stood.

"Hello, everyone. I'd like to thank you for coming on such short notice; we wanted the funeral to happen before the Hogwarts' students went home." He realized the way he spoke sounded like he didn't consider himself a student any longer. "I didn't actually write anything for this; every time I tried, it came out sounding like Mr. Anglens speech." The speaker flushed, trying to determine if the Boy-Who-Lived had just insulted him.

"And then I realized this was Albus Dumbledore's funeral; there were very few things he did plan, so wouldn't it be ever so fashionable to do the same?" A few hiccups were heard as women who had been sobbing attempted a laugh; a tear streaked down his cheek, but he held the rest in. He had to make it a little further.

"So don't judge me on this, because it's not exactly orthodox. You all know Albus Dumbledore was the world's greatest wizard; greater than Grindelwald, greater than Voldemort, and greater than me, your so-called 'savior.'" He ignored the gasps at the Dark Lord's name. "But there were things you didn't know about him.

"And I'm going to tell you some of these things now. Not all of them, because some of them were told in confidence, not to be disclosed at any time, but some things, because I don't want him to simply be remembered as the greatest wizard to ever live, the same way I don't want to be remembered as the Boy-Who-Lived.

"I want him to be remembered as Albus Dumbledore, the professor and Headmaster that changed Hogwarts, the man who always had a plan or at least knew how to pull off the illusion that he did. I want the world to remember him as I do; a great friend and a man who was so much more, but still just that—a man.

"His password to get into his office was always the name of a sweet, and, more often than not, it was muggle. I can't say how many times I did something stupid or needed help and sat in front of that damned door shouting 'acid pops' and 'lemon drops'. I daresay people thought I was crazier than he was." More laughs; it was a funeral and he was making them laugh—it seemed like the type of thing Albus would do.

"The twinkle in his eye that everyone always saw; that was not natural, my friends. He told me, when I was griping about a spell gone wrong that turned my hair green for a week, that when he and his brother were learning magic, Aberforth, his brother, cast a glitter charm on him, but forgot how to remove it. Rather than say the countercharm, he accidentally said the same spell three times; he claimed there was even a little left behind his ears, but I never bothered to check—a bit creepy, I thought. He managed to remind me all that week that, eventually, I would find the countercharm; he had to deal with seeing glitter everywhere for the rest of his life." No matter how short that had been.

He looked at the crowd; some of them were laughing, remembering Albus as he had been, and not mourning them as the man would have hated so much. True, they were all still crying, Harry included, but he was glad he had not done some cheap, rehearsed speech.

"Albus Dumbledore believed many things, and most of those beliefs he instilled in us. I cannot speak for my fellow students, but I find they are words and beliefs to live by that I will remember.

"He believed that if he could get one person to see the Light and change sides, it was all the motivation he needed to continue the war. It may have made it more difficult, and it made for a lot of sleepless nights spent sucking lemon drops, praying for a plan, but that didn't matter to him.

"He believed that everyone deserved a second chance, even those everyone else gave up on." Here, he looked at Slughorn; there was a stiffening in his back, confirming Harry's suspicions. He had to make sure the short man did not leave until Harry gave the say-so.

"And he believed that as long as one student at Hogwarts, seventh or first year, graduated or not, as long as one still needed him, he would never leave, which is why, at his request, we lay him to rest here, on Hogwarts' grounds." Harry turned to look at his mentor, friend, and grandfather.

"I won't say to rest in peace, Albus, because you would find that far too boring, so I hope that wherever you are, there's enough candy to keep you satisfied for centuries." At his final words, the audience rose to their feet and applauded, some more loudly than others, but all amazed at the words they had heard.

Those who did not know Albus Dumbledore were shocked and amused to discover some of the things Harry had revealed. Others, like McGonagall and Snape, though Harry did not know for sure he was there, were abashed to find a sixteen-year-old boy knew more about their leader personally than they did, especially considering _their_ age.

"And Albus Dumbledore's final wish, to be put into action at the end of the last eulogy—." The crowd held its breath as Harry released the lemon drops that had been hovering over them. "There better not be any left." As the last lemon drop hit the ground, Albus' body became engulfed in white light.

From the bottom of the altar he lay on to a good six inches above the body, a pure white marble built up in the shape of a coffin, and as it solidified, a Patronus, Albus' by the phoenix that matched Harry's new one, burst forth, erupting in a flash of white light.

The coffin sank into the ground and, where it had been, there was now a white marble phoenix engraved with 'Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.' Underneath, the four words engraved caused a bubble of laughter to escape Harry before he stepped down and walked to the front entrance, picking up a lemon drop on the way—he had to prepare to greet those entering the castle.

As he passed Slughorn, who was staring mournfully at the sour treat, he bent low and whispered, "Bring Malfoy with you." He could tell the man was stunned, but he ignored it, continuing towards the castle.

No one else understood what had caused Harry to laugh, because all the students that had heard the four words before had long forgotten by now, and none of the professors could remember his speeches from the beginning of the year, much less all the way back to Harry's first.

But Harry remembered; it had been their running joke. And as he positioned himself at the castle entrance, he murmured it to himself over and over.

"Nitwit, blubber, oddment, tweak."

* * *

"Severus, how did he know?" Indeed, how had Potter figured out it was Severus beneath the Polyjuice mask? And how did he know Draco was under the cloak next to him.

"Unfortunately, Potter has always been more clever than I gave him credit for. And he will not lift the apparation wards or the shield until we meet with him, so we'd best go up to the castle." Although the blonde was still hidden, Severus knew he was nodding, resigned.

On the trip to Hogwarts, Severus had noticed the blonde was far more reserved, as though something was troubling him. Of course, it might have had something to do with the previous night, when Severus all but ordered Draco to man up and admit his feelings about Potter, whether he wanted to or not. Had the boy listened? Severus didn't much care; he wanted to know how Potter had figured out they were there.

From the tone of voice, it was obvious he had read the letter.

Severus had been one of the people who, like Minerva, had been surprised to hear Potter talk about Albus as though he had known him Albus' whole life; not just a short six years. There was something so mature about the boy that the potion master just couldn't put his finger on. Not that it mattered much; he was more concerned with the fact that Potter could out him with the flick of his wand.

"The question is—."

"—what does he want?" Draco completed his hanging sentence and the two stared after Harry.

"Severus, do you think…do you think Ha—Potter still loves me?" Severus smiled, still feeling odd in Slughorn's body.

"I wouldn't doubt it, Draco," he replied, quelling the boy's fear. "Now give me a moment, I need to down another one of these." He took the vile potion as if it were a shot and made the phial disappear before turning towards the castle. "Off we go."

* * *

"I wouldn't doubt it, Draco." The blonde didn't hear anything after those hopeful words.

The night previous, after a terrible combination of time, thinking, and a staggering supply of alcohol, Draco had 'come to terms' with his feelings, as his godfather enjoyed repeating.

There was a difference between sacrificing oneself for the good of the world and sacrificing oneself to save one person, and Draco would throw himself in front of the Dark Lord himself if he thought it would save Potter…Harry. He needed to start calling him Harry.

When he sat down on the rug, a bottle of Brandy in his hand, he simply stared at the fire for an hour, never taking a sip of the alcohol, thinking about love.

It meant wanting to be wherever that person was, being able to trust them explicitly, wanting to tell them everything. It meant giving them everything and wanting nothing in return but their love for you.

It meant being willing to let go if it saved them. And Draco had let go of Harry to save all of them. If he hadn't truly loved Harry, he wouldn't have left; he wasn't technically guilty. If he hadn't truly loved Harry, he could have stayed, betrayed the information that he could bring the Boy-Who-Lived in a brightly wrapped package to the Dark Lord's front door, and gotten him killed.

But he left.

Did that mean he necessarily loved the boy? Perhaps. But it did mean he felt more than he had been letting on, and only talking to him again would clear up exactly what it was he felt.

And that was why he followed Severus to where Harry stood, greeting those attending the funeral. Of course, they would have to hang back, but that would give them all the more time to talk without being interrupted.

"This is going to be interesting," Draco muttered.

"You've no idea," his godfather agreed. "Hopefully, we walk away from this alive." Draco didn't mention anything about the letter; he was sure Harry had read it. Although whether or not he had, there would still be a long, awkward conversation to follow.

Yes, it would be interesting.

* * *

This was hardly interesting. Granted, he knew a funeral wasn't supposed to be fun or interesting, but if he had to hear one more person say they were sorry for his loss or compliment him on his speech, he was going to take a jump in the lake and join Albus. Not to mention the females that kept trying to feel him up; not that a few males didn't try either.

Finally, the line came to an end and he saw the last three people in line; Minerva McGonagall, Rufus Scrimgeour, and a man masquerading as Horace Slughorn, which meant there were four people—Malfoy was under a cloak somewhere.

"Still not a chance of reconsideration?" Of course, the Minister was only interested in this again. "A man of your power and charisma could make a big change at the Ministry."

"Scrimgeour, I'm giving you one last chance. I am not going to be your poster boy. I am not going to attempt a Ministry takeover. I am going to do the job Albus set out for me to finish and kill Voldemort, and then I'm going to leave the United Kingdom and live a happy life far away from you."

"So Dumbledore did saddle you with a job; maybe the Ministry could send some Aurors to help?"

"I don't think that will work," he said sarcastically. "You remember Lucius Malfoy—tall, scary, blonde? He worked for the Ministry—managed to get some pretty good secrets while he was there—and I still don't know how many of your people I trust exactly. So thanks, but no."

Again, Scrimgeour discovered a whole new shade of purple, but he walked off to join the crowd in their wallowing and free 'spirits' that Harry and his enormous amount of money had managed to provide.

"Harry." He smiled at his Head of House, though she was technically his former Head now he wouldn't be coming back. "Thank you for honoring Albus with words that he truly would have loved to hear had he been able to." Rather than the traditional handshake, McGonagall leaned in and gave him a motherly hug.

"Thank you, Professor."

"Really, Harry," she said, looking at him skeptically. "After what you just said to the Minister, it's fairly obvious you're not returning. It's Minerva, if you don't mind." Harry grinned.

"Very well, Minerva. Try to keep Scrimgeour in check , please. I have some business to take care of with, uh, Horace." She nodded.

"I shall try. That man is a never-ending stream of idiocy." She continued muttering curses and insults at the annoyance of a Minister, but, much to Harry's surprise, she did keep a position in the room where she could watch him.

"Ah, _Horace_. I'm sorry to say, I didn't quite expect you; can I offer you some mead?"

"Shut it, Potter."

"Now, really. That is just a tad rude." The short man rolled his eyes. "Room of Requirement?" A short nod. "Will we be being followed?" Another nod.

"Follow me." When they reached the floor, Harry imagined a room much like Albus' office and sat in one of the chairs.

"How did you know?" Severus asked, once the door was shut.

"Lucky guess; plus you looked uncomfortable when I mentioned something about second chances. Not to mention Horace Slughorn would relish any oppurtunity to be front and center, ass-kissing to every person he could.

"And I knew how close you and Albus were. I'm assuming you came for the funeral, anyways. And take off that cloak, Malfoy; I don't like not knowing where you are." Amazingly, he complied.

"I read the letter; I understand everything. You two took a large risk coming here; if Voldemort had found out…well, I'm sure you already know." Severus looked as though he didn't know whether to be angry at the gall of the Gryffindor or simply sit back; he opted for the latter.

"Is there anything that needs to be said that wasn't in the letter?" Malfoy nodded.

"As a matter of fact, Harry, there is." Harry barely registered the use of his first name before soft, warm lips pressed themselves to his; Malfoy…Draco had certainly come to terms fast.

"I love you." Harry grinned and kissed the boy back until Severus made a coughing noise.

"Right. Anyways, after getting the required information from Albus, it seems I will be out of school this upcoming year. I know communication will be difficult, but if there is any way to tell me of any plans to kidnap me on my birthday, that would be most appreciated as I'm staying at my relatives' home until I come of age unless informed otherwise." Severus nodded.

"And you're sure about this, Harry?" Harry smiled inwardly; he was on a first name basis with a lot of people. It was almost odd.

"I need to end this. Go back to Voldemort; if Albus' death is to mean anything, you need to appear to still be on _his_ side." He shook Severus' hand before coming to Draco. "I love you, Draco. And I'm going to rid the world of that snake-faced git, because, when I do, you and I are going to go on a proper date."

"Is that what you think, Potter?" Harry grinned and pulled the blonde to him in a passionate kiss.

"Yes, it is."

"I love you, Harry." The Gryffindor stepped back, handing Severus a twig.

"It will send you to Hogsmeade; you can apparate directly from there. Goodbye for now."

"Stay alive, Potter," Severus smirked, though they both knew it was fake.

"Same to you, Snape." He smiled softly at Draco and began the countdown. "Three…two…one." And they were gone.

And in a month and a half, so would he be—to avenge Albus and save the Wizarding World.

It really was a pain—being Harry Potter.

* * *

**A/N:** The next chapter won't be for a significantly long time, but I don't think I left that big of a cliffhanger, so I could end it now if I really had to. Just please review; the more I get, the more excited and encouraged I'll be to write another chapter. Otherwise, I might just leave it with this...

PLEASE REVIEW!


	2. Of Death Eater Meetings & Escape

**A/N:** Not for the first time, my idea of a shorter story has transformed itself into a wonderously and hopefully long story. Of Wicked Spells and Revelations has become a project now, and I hope to basically make it a rewriting of Deathly Hallows. The chapters will be very long and from mainly Sev, Draco, and Harry's POV with a few extras here and there.

Now, enjoy **Chapter 2: _Of Death Eater Meetings and Escape_**.

* * *

Not for the first time since returning home, he felt violently ill. Not because his mother looked weaker than he had known her to be and his father was a shell of what he once had been, or because all around him were the servants of the Dark Lord. No, mostly it was because the darkest, coldest creature to walk to planet was currently seated at his father's usual place at the dining room table.

Although the Muggle Studies teacher, Charity Burbage, hovering and silently screaming above the table, may have had something to do with it as well.

Nothing had been said for a long while, and Draco wondered what they were waiting for. He wanted to think about Harry, what he was doing, how his summer had fared so far, but he knew the Dark Lord was carefully monitoring everyone's surface thoughts with his Legilimency, so he stuck to wondering why they were waiting.

A swear and some muttering from the front door made him realize they hadn't been waiting for something, but someone; Severus Snape to be exact.

Draco's godfather looked even more tired than usual; he had been worrying about Harry as of late, just like Draco. Neither of them could receive mail from him nor send it out without being closely monitored and questioned about the contents, so they were saving their one chance for an emergency; the day the Dark Lord planned on attacking his house.

Making sure he got out of the house safely to begin his journey, whatever it was, for Draco had no idea, was the most important thing, and both were willing to risk themselves in order to get him the message.

It had seemed like such a short time ago that the events on top of the Astronomy Tower had shifted Draco's world. Severus was on the run, the convicted murderer of Albus Dumbledore, Harry had to complete a job set to him before the murder, and Draco and his family played host to biweekly Death Eater meetings; he absentmindedly scratched at his mark.

Severus sat to the Dark Lord's right, his father's old spot, Draco noted, and glanced at Draco. The blonde gave a subtle nod to assure his godfather that he was indeed alright and had not thought about anything that could endanger them.

Details about the abduction of Harry were discussed, but Draco relied on Severus to handle it; nothing he said would make the situation change, and Severus had plenty of experience handling the madman. Severus met his eyes to tell him they would be sending Harry the letter that night.

Then, the night got interesting; Lucius had been ordered to give up his wand to the Dark Lord, but he had made the mistake of reaching for his master's wand—a foolish move.

"There is no higher honor than having you in our family's house, my Lord." Auntie Bella was such a suck-up.

"That means much, coming from you, Bellatrix."

"Nothing makes us happier; you know I mean it!"

"Nothing, you say?" Draco suppressed a shudder at the cruel, cold laughter. "Even the happy marriage that is to take place between your niece and the creature?" Bellatrix soured at the mention of Tonks and Draco's old professor, Remus Lupin.

"She is no niece of ours, my Lord." For the next few moments, Bella said and did everything to convince him they did not consider Tonks family.

"And what of you, Draco?" His attention snapped to the cruel-looking figure. "Will you babysit the pups?" Distressed, he threw a look at his mother; he could not know what else to do. When she shook her head lightly and went back to staring at the floating figure, he did the same.

"Ah, yes. Severus, I believe you recognize our guest? Maybe you as well, Draco?" Of course, Draco should not have recognized her—she taught Muggle Studies, after all—but he did; not that he made any mention of it.

"Indeed, I do, my Lord." Severus was allowed to know who she was; she had once been one of his co-workers.

"Severus…p-please!" Charity Burbage seemed to not understand Severus could do nothing at the moment. Had she not heard he had turned 'dark?'

"For those of you who do not know our guest, she is, or was, I should say, the Muggle Studies teacher at Hogwarts. This woman," here, the Dark Lord snarled, "taught your children of pure blood that muggles were the same as us and deserved proper respect." If Draco had to listen to that laughter one more time, he thought he was going to Kedavra himself.

"How unfortunate for her. _Avada Kedavra!_" The flash of green reminded Draco of Harry for a brief instant, but he pushed the thought from his mind as he pushed his eyes from the limp, hanging form of Charity; there was nothing they could have done for her.

After a few more minutes, the meeting was adjourned. Severus passed Draco in the hall and nodded, letting him know he would take care of the letter and that he shouldn't worry—that didn't stop him, of course.

He wasn't sure how much longer he could hold out.

* * *

"Ah, yes. Severus, I believe you recognize our guest? Maybe you as well, Draco?" As if the creature didn't already know; how could he not know his own co-worker? Her shorter form revolved so all the Death Eaters could mock her, but her eyes, wild and frightened, kept attempting to seek him out.

With as much false indifference as he could muster, Severus replied, "Indeed I do, my Lord." It was then that Charity chose to plead with him.

"Severus…p-please!" How could he help? Anything he said or did risked sacrificing years of effort and the heart-wrenching murder of his almost-father. How could he put all that aside to save one woman? Mentally, he begged forgiveness.

"For those of you who do not know our guest, she is, or was, I should say, the Muggle Studies teacher at Hogwarts. This woman," here, the Dark Lord snarled, "taught your children of pure blood that muggles were the same as us and deserved proper respect." More respect than you, Severus thought mentally.

"How unfortunate." Severus knew what was to follow. _"Avada Kedavra!" _Severus could tell the limp form of a former professor hanging above him was making Draco uncomfortable and nauseous, but he begged silently for the boy to hold it in slightly longer. He also prayed for the meeting to be over soon; he had to send Potter his warning letter.

Twenty long and arduous minutes and many dark, sinister topics later, the Dark Lord released his "loyal" servants to return to their pure, undiluted families—even though quite a few of those present were half-bloods themselves, not the least of which were Severus and Voldemort himself.

They were such hypocrites, Severus thought to himself as he shook hands with his "fellow Death Eaters" whom he would love nothing more than to curse. There was, however, one individual he wanted to speak to.

The youngest Malfoy stood, shuffling from one foot to the other, as unwilling to be present as Severus was.

"Draco, I trust everything is well?" Translation: Are you okay? Is anything out of the ordinary being planned that I should know?

"Everything's fine, Severus, although I wouldn't mind a sunburn lotion; I've been outside a fair bit this last week and Malfoy's should be nothing but pale." Severus' mouth made a brief tick in the beginning of a smile, but he stopped it. The pale reference meant he was scared; outside was more of a reference to Potter. So he was worried about Potter, then?

"And why have you been venturing outside? I am sure other things inside require your attention, being that you have come of age and are, as you stated, a Malfoy." What was there to worry about regarding Potter? Has your father been told or said anything?

"Just needed a little air; the house was a little stuffy." That made more sense. Or, rather, the translation of it did—just a bad feeling with the Dark Lord hanging around.

"I see. Perhaps your parents would allow you to spend a night or two at Spinners' End; I shall send an owl or two about it within the week." He hoped Draco realized that, in addition to the hidden meaning regarding the letter he would send to Potter, the statement was also a genuine invitation to spend a few days with him. The boy seemed resigned to sitting in the library and staring outside for the entire summer, barring the meetings he was required to attend.

"Very well. Have a safe return, Severus."

"Good night, Draco." The young Malfoy had learned very quickly the importance of being able to decipher the hidden meaning in a general, brief, and normal conversation and had managed to pick up every clue Severus had dropped in the conversation.

Upon apparating to Spinners' End, Severus was irked to learn it had started raining while he was at Malfoy Manor and covered his head with his cloak, glaring at the offending clouds; water, humidity, and the chemicals attached to his hair from potion brewing did not mix well, and he attempted to think about anything but the putrid odor overwhelming his senses.

After locking the doors and making sure everything in his home was as it should be, he wrote _July 31, midnight_ on a scrap of parchment. On the back, he wrote _send the owl to Martha's Owl Service_.

Walking to the mantle, Severus picked up a thin, red piece of string and observed it—ordinary, plain, and overlookable. The nondescript material made the perfect portkey for the owl he had rented for the week.

Tied around the ankle of the owl, the string would transport the creature, Syracuse, to Surrey, where it would fly to Potter, who would, as the parchment instructed, send it back to the service Severus had rented from. Martha, the owner, would send a receipt telling him his message had been delivered; as Severus did not own an owl, it would not seem odd that he had rented one—especially seeing as he would be sending one to Draco as well with a request to not receive a receipt.

The trouble they went to in order to keep Potter safe made Severus wonder if it was all futile; they spent more time saving his skin than helping him find ways to defeat the Dark Lord.

As Syracuse hopped about, trying desperately to peck the string off before vanishing, Severus went to the kitchen to brew a cup of late night tea. He had never fully understood the Prophecy he had senselessly repeated to the Dark Lord, but it still seemed completely illogical that a seventh year boy, not even, as Potter would not be returning for his final year, could defeat the darkest wizard since Grindelwald, who had been defeated by a nearly hundred-year-old wizard!

Albus could not defeat the Dark Lord with one-hundred-and-fifty years of magic behind him; how was Potter to do so with six?

Then Severus remembered Draco and how much the boy was putting into making sure Potter succeeded; his godson would never be happy if he was not with Potter, which he could not do until this was all over.

That, combined with Severus' desire for revenge for the murder of Albus Dumbledore, gave him all the incentive he needed to make sure Harry Potter came out on top—no matter the cost.

* * *

"Bloody hell." Miles away, in a little house on Privet Drive, a woman burned her finger taking a teapot off the stove.

Next door, at 4 Privet Drive, Harry Potter was digging through the mess underneath the loose floorboard when his finger pierced a nail near the bottom.

"Merlin, that stings," he muttered, sucking his finger to stem the bleeding that had not been heavy to begin with. Heavy padding outside his door alerted him to Dudley's presence; Petunia made hardly any noise and Vernon sounded like an elephant.

When he opened the door, though, no one was there.

_I'm going mental_. It was quite possible at this point, he rationalized. A month and a half of no contact with his friends who knew virtually nothing about what he was planning to do, and no word from the Order when they were going to plan on picking him up, not to mention a lack of knowledge about Voldemort's plans because Severus had not…

This time, there was a tapping on his window.

_So help me, Merlin, if I am going mental, defeating Voldemort is going to be a right pain._ He grinned to himself. _More than usual, anyways._ When he realized he had been talking to himself, he slapped himself in the forehead, closed the bedroom door, and tiptoed to the window, where the tapping was still audible.

He carefully lifted the window until there was enough room between the bottom and the pane for the owl to slip through. It wasn't hard to figure out whose writing was on the tiny scrap, considering he had seen its likeness on his Potion essays and homework alike, scribbling every mistake and every harsh comment in the margins and on the work itself.

Severus Snape had a rather unique way of writing that made the reader feel insignificant just by looking at it, even if it had scrawled words of praise.

But what Harry saw on the parchment was neither praise nor criticism; it was a date, a time, and directions. He gave the owl one of Hedwig's leftover treats, said it could rest for the evening, and then told it to be off to its owner by morning. Bowing its head, the creature hopped up onto the desk and nestled its head under one wing, breathing steadily within a few minutes.

_July 31, midnight._ Harry realized, gratefully, that the Order had told him on the platform they would be sending Dedalus Diggle and Hestia Jones that day to pick up the Dursleys, and that the Dursleys would leave before he did in case anything happened.

That meant he had between the time the Dursleys left and midnight to get out of the house and to the Leaky Cauldron; he had rather hoped to be able to apparate, but he didn't have his license yet, and if he waited, someone was going to pick him up, and it would not end well.

Technically, Harry could apparate whenever he wanted; he had the three D's down. Unfortunately, like underage magic, unlicensed apparation was easy to track, so Harry would not have made it far.

With a few well-placed words and a couple of harsh, commanding ones, Harry had managed to get the Order to open a floo connection between the Leaky Cauldron and Mrs. Figgs' house. Of course, it had taken convincing Mrs. Figg she should have a floo connection if anything happened and putting a little fear in her, but fear was a good thing sometimes.

It certainly benefited Harry; an hour after the Dursleys left, Harry planned on making a visit over to Mrs. Figgs', who was on important order business, and flooing to the Leaky Cauldron. The problem was he couldn't find the key she had left him. He had placed it under the floorboard, which was where he was looking, but had been interrupted by numerous things.

Remembering why he had been looking in the first place, he got back on his knees and shoved his hand back down, sifting through old books, unused parchment, dusty quills, and nearly-empty inkpots.

It was early morning when Harry finally found the key, by which time he no longer cared that he had found it, and fell into an uneasy sleep, dreaming about a blonde who, incidentally, was dreaming of him as well.

* * *

"Draco! Time to get up, dear!" The blonde sniffed at the childish tone his mother was calling him with, but rolled, rather undignified, out of bed and began dressing. It was odd, he thought, that his father allowed him to dress in the latest muggle fashions considering what he stood for. After all, black collared shirts, black pants, and suit jackets were hardly wizard "threads."

"Draco, your godfather has requested you spend a few days with him," Lucius told his son over the top of the Prophet. Why their family still read that trash was a mystery considering it hardly ever printed words more true than they were lies, but Lucius demanded he receive it every day. "He says he is re-brewing the Potions he was forced to leave behind at that school, like sleeping drafts, antidotes—the usual—but he hasn't enough hands to keep an eye on all twelve cauldrons in his cellar."

"And he wants me to help?" Draco knew this was simply a ploy to get Malfoy Senior to agree—nothing was suspicious about helping to brew as many potions as Severus had to replace—but he couldn't help wonder what else his godfather had planned.

"Naturally, your amazing and natural talent for potion brewing made you his first pick for helping anyways," Narcissa sniffed, obviously believing her baby boy could do no wrong. Lately, the only times she had acted like herself was when she asked Draco about his schooling or his friends; she despised talking about the Dark Lord, the Death Eaters, or any plans involving them.

Although Draco did blush when she said this. Lucius told his son he had no choice but to go; the Dark Lord had been informed and said Draco must assist his godfather and Voldemort's master brewer in any way.

"Of course, I'd go anyways! I haven't been to Severus' home since I was a second year," Draco told his father. Perhaps he was a little more straightforward than needed, but it didn't seem to matter when Lucius nodded and told him to go pack his things.

Lately, between being sick over the Dark Lord's presence in their home and worrying over Harry's safety, Draco found himself wondering what he would do after this was all over and the Light side won. If his father had his way, and the Dark Lord won, Draco would take up a position in the Ministry to keep the Malfoy name in power, but he truthfully had no interest in politics of any sort; he had too many "dark" secrets to be able to pull that job over well.

The Malfoy name had quite enough galleons to it for him to do anything he wanted, or nothing at all—he could never work a day in his life and still buy extravagant items and live in a large manor for his entire life comfortably. As appealing as that may have been to someone who hadn't a Knut to their name, for him, it was boring. He wanted excitement and action and something to do every day, although his current predicament wasn't exactly his idea of fun.

It certainly wasn't boring.

But Draco saw himself doing something to follow, not in his father's footsteps, but his godfather's. Severus Snape despised being a teacher; he would have much rather be a legitimate Potion Master, developing new potions, supplying St. Mungo's with exceptional batches of his pepper-ups, draughts, and others, than teaching students who rather hated him anyways.

Severus did not like having to explain himself, and especially not to people who had no true interest in what he was explaining. In all honesty, the majority of students found far more interest in pursuing careers in Defense Against the Dark Arts, or Dark Arts, as the case may have been, Charms, Transfiguration, and Muggle Studies—studies that were widely used on a day to day basis.

Herbology, Divination, and Potions were more misunderstood and avoided. Herbology was not a big interest-grabber, mostly due to the lack of want in plants that could kill you when mishandled. Divination was simply not an interesting subject; end of story. And Potions was far more precise than most people cared to be.

Most people, which did not include Draco, were not interested in Potions. Draco Lucius Malfoy, however, was very much interested in learning every possible thing about the subject.

He wondered, briefly, if Severus would consider training him to take over the Potions position at Hogwarts, and decided to ask him while he was staying.

Maybe learning how one acquired a Potions Mastership would take his mind off whether or not Harry was safe.

* * *

The Order had been to pick up the Dursleys that day, and it had gone—in Harry's opinion—better than expected.

Vernon, of course, had decided to shout up a storm about how this was all a ploy of Harry's to get the house—for what, happy memories?—and that he certainly didn't trust his "lot." This had only been further encouraged when Dedalus Diggle had asked if Vernon knew how to drive a car.

"Of course I do! Do you think I'm an idiot?"

"Oh, far from it, my dear sir! I think you must be a genius for knowing how to work such a complicated piece of machinery!" Since Vernon could not tell if the odd man had been mocking him or not, Vernon settled on looking infuriated and getting into the driver's seat, waiting for Petunia and Dudley to finish.

Petunia had simply wondered why he was not joining them; their family had been "saddled" with him for so long, so why not now? It seemed like he had become a constant in her life that she didn't want to change, because everything else was.

"You're leaving here because I put you in danger. If I come with, everyone, including you, stays in danger. If I finish the job my Headmaster set me with, everything ends—hopefully. If I fail, everyone loses." She frowned, realizing just how special Harry was, and sighed.

"Stay safe, Harry. If all this is over, remember you'll always have a room with us, no matter how much you may not want it." Surprised, he received the hug she bestowed upon him, before watching her walk about the car to sit in the back; she wanted to sit with her boy to protect him from the witch in the backseat—not that Hestia would do anything.

Finally, Dudley was the only one left, standing in front of him.

"Potter," he mumbled in a way that reminded him of how Draco used to talk to him. "Why are you doing this?" Harry had been expecting this.

"Because regardless of how you and your family treated me, you never killed me, you always fed me, and I always had room to stay at this house. You never considered throwing me out to Voldemort, even if that was only under threat from Albus Dumbledore—I can't just let you be killed. Consider it a life-debt, repaid in full."

"What's a life debt?" Of course, Dudley would have no way of knowing a wizard custom.

"It's like if you saved my life, I would owe you one extremely large favor, whether that be saving your life or giving you a place to stay in my home; it tends to be something I would never consider doing otherwise, but something that you need. You saved my life, kept me safe from the Dark side, by letting me stay, so I'm saving your life now."

"You mean you wouldn't have done it otherwise?" Dudley almost looked, dare he say it, hurt.

"Not in an instant, without considering anything else, the way I did." His large cousin nodded, understanding a little better—Harry still would have saved him, but because other people forced him to, because of his status as a savior; it wouldn't do for a savior to let his own family die out of revenge.

"I'm sorry for my behavior these last seventeen years, Harry."

"I almost sort of understand, Dudley, and I accept. Stay safe." As the three Dursleys, plus to wizards, drove away, Harry grinned as he stepped back in the house. Somehow, he really did understand Dudley's predicament—he was like Draco.

His father had instilled in him a belief from birth, and it had taken a lot for him to change his way of thinking. That Dudley, of all people, had managed to change his thought process from someone as oppressing as Vernon was a miracle—one that Harry would take—in itself. He never, in his wildest dreams, thought Dudley would give him an apology or that he would actually want it, but now, he realized, he had appreciated the words Dudley had said to him when he left.

He suddenly found himself a little happier as he walked about the house a few more times, ensuring he had everything he needed or wanted. He checked his cupboard—_his_ cupboard, how embarrassing—and underneath the floorboards and desk. His trunk had long ago been cleared out, but he checked once more anyways.

On his bed were the numerous items he had emptied from the floorboard the night previous. The space was now empty, and Harry was bemused to see what he had hidden.

Quills, parchment, and ink for homework he had strained to finish without being caught caused him to remember sitting under his sheets with a flashlight, a book cracked open, and open ears for the sounds of Vernon coming down the hall.

Books had been stacked haphazardly, but most of them were ones he would never want, such as the Monster Book of Monsters, and could not get rid of; he might need them one day. Among these were his dream diaries from Divination, and he read through them for some amusement, though every time he came upon the words he had written regarding his deaths, he couldn't help but prefer them to dying by Voldemort's hands.

After becoming mildly depressed, he moved on. There were stacks of pictures Collin had given him with Hedwig, Hermione, Ron, during classes, eating, and Harry found it quite creepy that the boy had taken it upon himself to become a personal stalker/photographer.

He would have to make a photo album of it the way Hagrid had done for him. Hagrid's albums, a grand total of three, had been placed in his rucksack.

A pocket sneakoscope, some expired candy, and other knick-knacks also littered his bed, but he paid them no mind.

He was finally completely packed. His Firebolt had been shrunk before he left to fit in the shrunken expandable pack, which would be his primary means of transportation, unless he could find a way around the Trace on his apparation.

Except, of course, tonight, when he would floo through Mrs. Figgs' fireplace.

* * *

"Draco Lucius Malfoy, are you packed yet?" He snarled at the use of his full name, though no one could see him as he was still in his room—he wished he could do away with his middle name and the association it implied. "It should have been done in five minutes; you can use your magic, you know!"

Of course he knew, but there was something extremely satisfying in doing it yourself; not that anyone in his family would have any idea of that. He summoned a house elf.

"Tell my mother that I am coming; I just wanted to make sure I hadn't forgotten anything." He wondered at his mother's sudden taking to shouting through the house when she had always used the house elves to communicate. Regardless of how satisfying something done yourself was, there was no need to be so improper and shout through the house like a bunch of muggles.

The house elf nodded and disappeared with a crack. He levitated his bag down to the front hall where he noticed Severus' cloak on the rack in the corner. He raised one eyebrow; it was very unlike Narcissa Malfoy to not only shout through the Manor, but to do so with company over, even if it was a family friend like Severus Snape.

"Ah, there you are Draco." His mother nodded her head at his levitating bag, which he had yet to release from its charm. "That is exactly what I am talking about; do not bother doing things the difficult, muggle way when you can finish everything so quickly. It does not do to keep our company waiting."

"I'm sure Severus would much rather be here talking to you than putting up with me as he is about to do for the next few days." He wasn't sure if Narcissa caught his sarcasm, but he guessed not by her blush—it really was a wonder how well her name fit her narcissistic nature.

"Yes, well, I believe it is time the two of you headed off. Severus, I believe you need to visit Diagon and Knockturn Alley?" The dark man nodded. "Then I'm sure you will respect my wishes when I request you to not bring Draco along?" The teen looked to his mother in question.

"I would rather he not get the urge to…well…I would just rather he not go." Severus, despite Draco's obvious wish for him to protest this request, nodded; perhaps he knew something Draco did not?

"I quite understand your concerns, Narcissa. I will ward my home and leave for as brief a time as I am able; I need only visit the Apothecary's in both alleys, and then I will return."

"Thank you, Severus." Draco took the time during this exchange to observe both parties.

His mother looked worn and beaten—not in a physical sense, but more emotional. She had been quiet and reserved as of late, and that she had said this much to Severus was a large surprise to Draco. Her hair and clothing were still immaculate, clean and pressed, with nothing out of place, but even her well-made-up face could not cover the fact that she had had many sleepless nights and had acquired far more wrinkles this summer than in the last six years.

Severus did not look much different than usual, but still bore the same signs as his mother; Draco knew the reasons pertaining to his godfather.

Severus Snape, as a spy, was constantly stressed and worried, but since his direct switch to the dark side, as the Wizarding public called it, the man had become increasingly paranoid and jumpy, though he hid it well. His eyes darted frequently and his ears twitched, listening harder than usual for any audible signs of danger, but his expression was still fixed in the sneer Draco had memorized at Hogwarts and his tone still spoke volumes of sarcastic wit and backbite, unless he was speaking to the Dark Lord.

It was then that Draco could hear the disgust in his voice; though everyone else chalked it up to hatred of muggles and "Mudbloods," Draco knew it was for what he was doing and the man he now reported to. As he had yet to master his expressions and tone, Draco tended to be silent and expressionless when in the Dark Lord's presence.

Emotionally, Draco knew his godfather was weakening. Though he put up a strong front around Voldemort and the Death Eaters, snapping and belittling anyone who dared talk to him, the man was wearing thin, and it scared Draco; like his father, Severus Snape was a strong, independent man who never would have had to rely on Draco the way he had been as of late.

Physically, his greasy-looking hair was sporting a few more gray streaks than usual, he was getting bone thin, and he had wrinkles on his forehead from where it creased when he frowned.

Perhaps this week was as much for him as it was for Draco, a time when they could be themselves, talk freely, and not have to worry about betrayal. A relaxing weekend spent making potions would be good for the two of them; the only stressful thing involved in that was making sure the proper ingredients were added in the proper amounts at the proper time.

Potion-making was precise and an art; it was a constant that never changed, which was part of the attraction for Draco.

"I think it would be best if we were off, Cissy," Severus said, standing from the dining room table.

"Of course, Sev." His mother stood, smoothing her nondescript gray skirt and smoothing her already-perfect hair. "Do behave, Draco, and help in any way possible."

"Yes, mother." He stood still, forcing himself not to move or draw back when she kissed his cheek and put a hand on his head, smoothing back his hair. Despite all her changes, she still had her motherly tendencies, which showed whenever she would touch his head or brush his shoulders and adjust his jacket.

But she never showed signs of affection, such as hugging or kisses on the cheek, and doing so now, she worried Draco; how could she possibly have changed so much?

Suddenly, going away, even for a few days, did not seem like a good idea for his mother's sake. Sure, he would be back in three days, and then back again two days after that, for Voldemort's regular Death Eater meetings, but he could not talk to her or get her to open up if the Dark Lord was near.

Something was wrong with his mother, and he wanted to know what it was. Perhaps he should tell his godfather he wanted to stay home?

Severus, however, did not know his thoughts and, having finished with their trivial good-byes, summoned his cloak and Draco's bag, grabbed both and Draco's hand, and apparated the two of them to his home on Spinner's End.

* * *

Severus had to desperately restrain himself from conjuring a reading of the time after the first twenty minutes of conversation with Narcissa; what could Draco possibly be doing that would take packing so long? After all, after everything was set out, he need only speak a packing charm and everything would be done. The boy had a house elf for Merlin's sake; the creature could do it for him in a fraction of a second and a snap of the fingers.

Sighing as Narcissa dragged on about some trivial event that had happened to Lucius at the Ministry, Severus lamented coming earlier than he had said he would. Despite everything about the boy and his obsession with everything being in place, Draco could never find it in himself to be early for anything, much less on time. If anything, Severus should have come an hour later than he was supposed to; perhaps Draco would be ready then?

In honesty, the man couldn't be cross with his godson for not being ready yet. For a start, the letter had just been sent this morning, so he had not had time to plan ahead and pack the night previous. Second, as he had already pointed out to himself, it was he who had come early, not Draco who was late. If he had appeared on time, perhaps he would have found the teen packed and seated with his mother.

Severus snorted to himself; that was highly unlikely, but everyone has to have some unreachable hope—Draco learning to be on time was his.

"So then, Runcorn tells Lucius…oh, I do apologize, Severus. You must want to get back to your potions. Draco Lucius Malfoy, are you packed yet? Ah, as I was saying—." In the next instant, Crissy, Draco's house elf, appeared and curtsied low to Narcissa.

"The young master is saying he is nearly done. He simply wanted to check that he forgot nothing." In another puff of smoke and a snap of the fingers, the little elf disappeared to help her fellow elves tidy up some more.

As Narcissa reached what Severus could only hope to be the completion of her story, he wondered over the odd event that had just transpired.

Never, in the twenty years he had known Narcissa, had she believed in shouting through a large house such as the Manor. It was improper for one to raise one's voice louder than what it would take for someone across a room to hear. Any louder, and it was noise pollution and, as such, the job of one's house elf to deliver the message.

So why had she shouted to her son?

Apparently, whatever had caused Narcissa to change had not affected Draco in such a way, for he responsibly sent his elf down with his reply to his mother.

He had certainly been a proper master to that elf, Severus thought. It was very respectful, never showed signs of fear of being beaten by anyone but Lucius, who was known to be a violent person, drunk or sober, and always followed Draco's orders without looking for a loophole. She never spoke ill of her master the way Dobby had of their family, and never sported bandages that showed she had punished herself for disobeying an order.

And she certainly had an interesting name, he thought, smirking inwardly. It had been Draco's choice of name when he was a mere four years old, to name the elf Crissy. He wondered if the boy had done it on purpose or not, but it did sound wonderfully similar to Narcissa's nickname. Perhaps young Draco's idea of a house elf was someone to dote on him the way his mother was supposed to?

He realized there had become a lull in the conversation, which he took to mean that Narcissa had finished her story about Lucius and that he should give input of some sort to make the woman think he had actually been listening to her babble about her failure of a husband.

"Lucius seems to have kept himself rather busy, hasn't he?" Narcissa smiled, apparently laboring under the impression that he had, in fact been listening, rather than thinking about the similarities in names between her and the house elf Draco treated with more respect than either of his parents thought proper.

Severus understood his reasons, though; the house elf, for the seven years between receiving it and going to Hogwarts, had been his only true friend. If Severus was honest with himself, the way Draco behaved at school, he would say Crissy still was his only friend, Potter…no, Harry…notwithstanding.

"He has, but I think he does genuinely enjoy working where he does. Of course, he would still do so if the Dark Lord had not ordered him to do so, but I think he likes the fact that the Dark Lord has been…gracious…enough to bestow upon him a job that he not only finds himself enjoying, but that he thrives—ah, there you are, Draco." Severus did not miss the hesitation when she mentioned Voldemort being gracious, which all his followers knew that to be the least likely adjective someone would honestly use on the creature.

He turned to see his sharp-dressed godson standing in the doorway, wand raised to direct his bag to follow him.

"That is exactly what I am talking about; do not bother doing things the difficult, muggle way when you can finish everything so quickly. It does not do to keep our company waiting." _And bored out of their mind with pointless stories about a man they do not like_, Severus thought bitterly to himself. Draco, the man noticed with a wry smile, did not seem bothered by his mother's tone and found himself a comeback quite nicely.

"I'm sure Severus would much rather be here talking to you than putting up with me as he is about to do for the next few days." Neither male noticed Narcissa's face flush with embarrassment, as it was clear she believed his clearly sarcastic comment to be a compliment rather than the barb it truly was.

She did catch him slightly off-guard when she mentioned his visit to Diagon and Knockturn Alley, but he understood why Draco should not go. He was not even going without the cover of a cloak and some muggle make-up on his Mark; these days, it was not wise to be caught with a blemish such as that on your arm, for it only spelled disaster and a very firm removal from wherever you were.

If it were not for the fact that he desperately needed the supplies he had been forced to leave behind at Hogwarts, he himself would not even be entering the crowded area of Diagon Alley; Knockturn would have been fine, considering most wizards and witches to visit that area were like him.

Still, Draco could not accompany him. A glimpse of the bright hair would bring all hell down if anyone from Harry's old group, Dumbledore's Army, saw him; the majority of them knew Draco had pointed his wand at the man as he fell, that he was a Death Eater, and that he had fled the scene that fateful night. Plus, Draco would not defend himself to the best of his ability if caught in such a situation as Severus was able to do.

Knockturn Alley, Severus assumed, was forbidden simply because she did not want her son picking up any more dark items. Draco still did not know the condition in which Narcissa had visited him the night he swore the Unbreakable Vow; it was that memory that made Severus wonder if he didn't already know just what had reduced Cissy to the state she was in.

Years of spying and careful observation meant that Severus did not miss the looks Draco was giving both Narcissa and himself—calculating, curious—which meant he and his godson would be having quite a few talks during his stay at Spinner's End.

Draco was not giving him the look of wonder that asked why he was not allowed to go to the Alleys; somehow, he assumed the boy already knew the answer. His godson was interested in how old Severus noticed the two of them seemed to have become in a few months. Had Narcissa told Draco that she did not want either of them to be involved in the Dark Arts? Draco certainly would not have told her he wanted nothing to do with them; Severus has sworn him to secrecy on the subject.

Finally, after a few seconds of quiet, Severus stood and announced they would be departing. Narcissa nodded in agreement and said some words to her son about behaving, as she always did, though they were pointless—Draco was the best-behaved boy Severus had ever taught, much less known, and he could not have been a better godson.

Then, Narcissa did something rather out of character that stunned both Draco and himself; he felt as though the Order had sent half-a-dozen stunners at him at the same time, and Draco seemed to be suppressing the urge to back away or simply fall from shock.

She kissed him on the cheek.

Narcissa was far from being known as an affectionate person, especially in public. She would adjust Lucius and Draco's jackets and hair, saying her boys had to be perfect, and she would pat their arms, put a hand on the shoulder or simply smile, but never had she given a hug, kiss, or anything resembling either. She simply did not do anything of the sort, and it was a constant and simple truth—it was never done.

But there she was, giving her only son a kiss on the cheek before pushing a hair back in place on his head.

Severus saw Draco waver, and before the boy could contemplate anything for too long, he summoned his cloak from the front hall along with Draco's bag, grabbed the boy's shoulder, and, with a quick nod to Narcissa, he turned on the spot, arriving home.

He released Draco and his bag, waving his wand to direct the pointless cloak he had dragged along; no one needed such a thing during summer. He had to place a constant Cooling charm on all his clothing as it was, as he refused to leave his home in anything but black, whether it was his robes or muggle slacks and a collared shirt. Needless to say, without the charm, he would be roasted alive.

"Severus, what is wrong with my mother?" He turned and saw his godson, paler than usual, sitting on the floor with his head on his knees, arms wrapped about his legs. The situation, reminding him of a mental patient going steadily insane, would have been humorous if it hadn't been his godson that looked as though he were going insane.

"I cannot say for sure right now, Draco," he finally revealed, surprising himself that he was being truthful. "If I were to be completely honest, I am not sure if this change has been long in coming, but inevitable nonetheless. Whatever the cause, I believe the solution is Potter; once the final battle is over, I believe she will be much calmer." _But only if the boy wins,_ Severus thought desperately.

"I want my mother back, Sev." Tears streaked the blonde boy's face, making his eyes turn red and causing him to look very much like an albino. "Although it's nice to finally have a mother that doesn't mind actually showing a sign of affection now and then," he laughed sardonically.

Severus wasn't sure if he should be glad his godson was trying to find humor or worried; he wasn't quite positive on what normal in this situation was, so he calmed by telling himself this was just the way Draco behaved—nothing more.

"I know, Draco. Why don't you levitate your bags to your room, and we can make lunch. Today, we shall relax and try to unwind. Tomorrow, I'll visit the apothecaries in Diagon and Knockturn Alleys, and we can begin brewing." The blonde nodded, resigned, and flicked his wand, performing a nonverbal spell.

"I do hope Potter manages to pull those off as nicely as you; he was quite atrocious before, if I remember correctly," the Potion Master smirked. He thought he saw a small smile at the brief mention of the Boy-Who-Lived, but it was quickly replaced by a frown at the mention of Harry's magical skills.

"Do you think he'll have enough power, Severus? He isn't exactly the most talented wizard," Draco muttered. _Wasn't that the truth_, Severus thought ironically. _We are placing the hopes of our world in the hands of a boy who has half the power of Voldemort, regardless of how much he was taught by Albus._

"True, but he has many things working in his favor, Draco. Between the power he does have, the love from and for those around him, and his extreme amounts of dumb luck, he should have enough to hold his own. If he continues to practice and hone his skills, he has a shot." This did not seem to appease his godson.

"He also has one thing the Dark Lord does not," Severus said seriously, holding Draco by the shoulder and willing him to look into his eyes.

"And what's that Severus?" Draco seemed doubtful that there was anything other than love the Dark Lord did not have that could make a difference.

"Us. With the two of us, fighting on his side, Potter has a much better shot than he would have on his own, or even with Weasley and Granger helping."

"But how can we make such a difference to the final battle? We're two men!"

"And so are the Dark Lord and Harry, yet those two will make all the difference in the end. It is a matter of perspective, Draco, and we must be adopt the belief that if one man can make such a difference as either one of them, then two can make a difference as well. Harry will need us in the end; will you be willing to stand beside him in that final battle to help?"

"Of course!" Draco looked incensed that his godfather would ask such a question.

"And why is that?" Severus knew the answer, but Draco needed to understand just why the two of them could make a difference.

"Because I love him!" Though it had taken awhile for the Slytherin to come to terms with those feelings, he had eventually done so and even confessed them to the Gryffindor. Belatedly, Severus realized he would have to stop referring to his godson and the Boy-Who-Lived by their houses; neither of them would be returning for a seventh year, although hopefully the two received honorary diplomas or such—it would not do for the savior of the Wizarding World or Draco to graduate a year late.

He shook his head and returned to the conversation he was having with the blonde.

"Exactly. Your love for him and his for you will make a huge difference; Harry has a deeply personal reason to get rid of the Dark Lord compared to before. He and Granger have become less close than they were, so his desire to defeat the Dark Lord for her and Muggleborns has wavered, Weasley is in no danger, and he hadn't had the best muggle upbringing, so his desire to win is in no way boosted from that angle.

"The only few reasons Potter had for winning have gone. True, the Dark Lord killed his parents and is the reason behind Sirius and Albus' deaths," he paused to keep himself from getting choked up, "but they are all dead and gone. As much as he would like to think he will defeat the Dark Lord for them and avenge their deaths, he knows it will not bring them back. If anything, he may believe losing, dying, will allow him to be reunited with them."

"But he can't—." Severus silenced his godson with the look he gave Potions' students on a day-to-day basis. Though it did not intimidate Draco the way it did every other student in his class, Harry notwithstanding, his godson did know the meaning behind the look and pressed his lips together waiting.

"Of course he can't die, Draco—not to you. But you must understand his reasoning?" Draco nodded. "You are his reason now. Because you are alive and technically being held against your will, though the three of us are the only ones that know of that, and because defeating the Dark Lord is the only way to free you, he will fight to win with everything he has.

"You have quite possibly changed the outcome of this war, Draco." Apparently, his godson had not considered himself so highly before. Everyone expected Harry to win the war simply because they expected it; even the muggles, who had no idea what was going on right under their noses, placed the world on Harry's shoulders to protect.

But no one gave him an incentive to win. Everyone he loved was dying around him—his parents, his godfather, his mentor—so why not die and join them? By falling in love with someone whose life and freedom was to be determined by the outcome of the war, he had found a reason to try, whether he knew it or not.

"Thank you, Severus. I didn't consider it that way, but I guess now I've got a reason to keep going, too, don't I?" Severus tilted his head to stare at his godson.

"I don't quite follow, Draco."

"I can't go and get myself killed if me being alive and well motivates Harry to keep me that way, can I?" Severus glared at the blonde for even considering getting killed. "I know, I know—go to my room." It took quite a bit of energy for Severus to not chuckle at that, and it ended up failing anyways; a small grin appeared before being replaced by a scowl.

As Draco levitated his bag, Severus sunk into his favorite reading chair, hoping he was right—for all their sakes.

Moments later, Draco reappeared around the corner, surveying the library he seemed to have just realized they had apparated into. Heading straight for where he knew the most interesting and most read—Severus' favorite—books were shelved, he began browsing for something to take a peek at.

Finding nothing he had not already read a dozen times from previous visits to the house, he turned to look at his godfather with a grin.

"So what's for lunch, Sev?" The man gave a mock-glare and shook his head; what was it with teens and their stomachs?

"Whatever you can find in the kitchen, brat." The Malfoy arched an eyebrow at the tone, but said nothing about I t, choosing to turn on one heel and head in the general direction of the kitchen. "When you wake tomorrow, I shall already be in one of the two apothecaries I need to visit."

"I still can't believe she won't let me go under the cover of the Cloak; she knows I have it and that I've used it before!" Draco seemed less angry and more wistful, but Severus knew why—the boy loved being in town with all the different shops and items to look at. It was why he never missed a single Hogsmeade visit, though he quite disliked the one where Harry snuck in and threw snowballs at him.

"You know as well as I why she will not allow you in, Draco." The blonde seemed to want to answer, but a growl from his stomach settled his mind on other matters; perhaps the conversation could continue better after he had something to eat.

Severus shook his head, inwardly laughing at his godson; he truly was a normal teenager down at heart, despite the Mark on his arm and his obsession with Harry Potter, although nowadays, that was rather common as well.

* * *

She knew she was boring Severus, but it couldn't be helped; if there had been silence, if even for the shortest amount of time, it was quite possible she would have divulged everything—and that just wouldn't do.

For Severus was a close family friend, trusted and respected by all in the Malfoy circle, and told everything wrong or exciting happening in any of their lives. So it was very easy to see how if she was silent for even a few seconds and given enough time to actually think, she would reveal to him how she disagreed with everything the Dark Lord stood for and that she wanted Draco to have nothing to do with him. Yes, that would end very badly for her and her family, considering Severus' risen position in the Inner Circle and Lucius' fast-lowering one.

So Narcissa Black Malfoy forced herself to recall a story Lucius had said over breakfast that morning regarding Runcorn, Yaxley, and a badly performed cleaning charm. She held in laughter as she realized Severus' expression was very much similar to her own that same morning—polite interest and immense amounts of impolite boredom. The truth was that her husband far more narcissistic than she could ever hope to be; his stories always involved him in some way—never a retelling of someone else's—and they were all extremely boring.

Inwardly, she cursed her son for taking so long packing a few simple items. He would be back in a few days should he forget anything, and a simple packing charm would suffice once everything was set out. There was simply no reason for him to be dragging along as he was; it had been two whole hours since her and Lucius had told him he was to leave for Severus—more than enough time.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy, are you packed yet?" Carefully masked surprise flitted across Severus' face, but she made no move in the conversation to comment about it; she knew what it was about. She continued on about her story for a few moments, wondering if Severus or Draco would make a comment on her shouting through their home like a bunch of muggles, but knew they would not; both were far too reserved and polite. If truth be told, her perfect son took after Severus far more than either of his parents, and Narcissa much preferred it that way; he was a much better role model.

A crack alerted her to Crissy—curse Draco and his four-year-old name for his personal elf—and her message from Draco. Narcissa knew the boy's message was simply a stalling mechanism. In some ways, she and her son were similar, but in certain matters, they were polar opposites.

Narcissa preferred using house elves and magic for whatever possible, but Draco quite enjoyed manual labor—unless it involved getting dirty. He would much rather pack his items by hand, which meant unpacking and repacking until everything fit properly, though an expansion or shrinking charm on the bag or items respectively would simplify matters.

She waved the house elf away, still silently cursing the similarity between its name and her own, and continued talking about Lucius' idiotic story; if Harry Potter won the final battle, she was divorcing him—no question about it.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Draco, dressed sharply in his muggle suit, though it was magically tailored to automatically alter according to his growth, levitating his bag. She knew that, although he could carry it himself quite easily from years of Quidditch, he was magically carrying the bag simply to appease her for not packing the same way.

Silence descended on the trio, and Narcissa racked her brains for something to say to keep herself from spilling all her secrets, especially in front of the two she would love nothing more than to tell everything to. Luckily, Draco seemed to save her by reopening the conversation.

"I'm sure Severus would much rather be here talking to you than putting up with me as he is about to do for the next few days." Narcissa felt her face flood with warmth as she blushed heavily. She could easily detect the heavy sarcasm that laced her son's voice—a habit he had picked up from Severus—so she knew he had not been serious. Obviously, Draco and Severus both thought she was blushing from a nonexistent compliment, but it was really about being two seconds from breaking down in a moment of weakness and telling everything.

She was glad they thought there was another reason for her blush than what it truly was. Clearing her throat, she began speaking before another lull could occur in the conversation.

"Yes, well, I believe it is time the two of you headed off. Severus, I believe you need to visit Diagon and Knockturn Alley?" The man nodded, apparently unsure of what had brought around this topic. "Then I'm sure you will respect my wishes when I request you to not bring Draco along? I would rather he not get the urge to…well…I would just rather he not go." _I would rather he not get the urge to visit anymore dark shops that could influence him further_, she finished mentally. Draco seemed confused by her request, but Severus understood her well enough; he always did know what she was babbling about, even when she did not.

Back in Hogwarts, Severus had been her one confidant who she could tell everything to. He listened as well as he could and was the only one who let her be herself, who understood everything she said whether she was speaking, babbling, or silent. It had been her request to make him Draco's godfather, which the Dark Lord had granted as the man had been quite perfect in the madman's mind.

She was pleased Severus could be in her life in some way since her parents as well as Lucius' had decided the two of them would be a perfect pair—purebloods and all that nonsense. Of course, as a half-blood, Severus could not be considered as a suitor for her hand.

Lately, Lucius had noticed the man's influence on his son, but could not keep the two of them apart due to the Dark Lord's wish for them to spend more time together; Severus had been a good influence in his opinion. Narcissa scowled bitterly; the two of them needed an influence like Albus Dumbledore to make them drag their sorry asses back to the light side.

She sighed; only Albus could have protected her son from the Dark side, and now, only Potter could do that by winning the damn war.

Severus looked at her oddly as she sighed, but replied to her request nonetheless.

"I quite understand your concerns, Narcissa. I will ward my home and leave for as brief a time as I am able; I need only visit the Apothecary's in both alleys, and then I will return." She smiled—a genuine smile—for the first time in a truly long while.

"Thank you, Severus." He nodded and looked to Draco.

"I think it would be best if we were off, Cissy." She nodded, voicing her agreement, before looking to her son sternly.

"Do behave, Draco, and help in any way possible." She moved closer to her son, doing something quite out of character.

"Yes, mother." Narcissa could tell both Draco and Severus were floored when she leaned in to kiss her son on the cheek; the last time she had done that was far before Draco's memory even went—about one year after he was born. Lucius said it would not make him the strong man he should be the way disinterest and cold-heartedness would.

Still, she would go into his room often and kiss him on the cheek as he slept, wishing she could make up those lost years, hoping the war ended soon for her son's sake.

She noticed Draco staring at her oddly, clearly desperate to say something, and she strongly considered stopping him there and then to tell him everything. Clearly, Severus noticed something was wrong and gave her a quick nod before summoning his cloak and Draco's bag before apparating them away.

Sinking to the floor, she put her head in her hands and let her tears out. Her clean appearance shattered as the tears streaked make-up down her face and her hands made her hair slightly disheveled. It was extremely undignified for someone to find oneself in such a state on the dining room floor, but, for once, she didn't give two Knuts about dignity.

Two cold hands landed on her shoulders and she held her breath in, suddenly remembering that the Dark Lord did frequent the house more often than Lucius and that one was far more open to his probing Legilimency when in an emotional state the way she was.

When the hands wrapped around her in a hug, she noticed the dirty, wrinkled hands and turned to see Crissy giving her a hug.

"Crissy understands, Lady Narcissa. Master Draco is a kind-hearted boy who will do the right thing; Crissy believes in him!" Narcissa, in a rather undignified manner, returned the creature's hug, desperate for some contact from someone—a certain Potion Master—but accepting it from anyone that would allow it, even if that someone was her son's personal elf.

"Crissy, I don't know what I'll do if we lose the war." By we, the house elf couldn't possibly know she meant Potter and the Light side, could she?

"Crissy understands. He is evil and corrupt; Master Draco is not safe on his side." So the elf was more intelligent than she let on; most house elves were.

"Thank you, Crissy." The two sat on the floor for a long while, Narcissa letting her tears flow freely onto the clean, pink towel Crissy wore. After awhile, she got up, but spotted a thin, black belt around elf's waist—clothes.

"Crissy, where did you get that?" The elf looked up in fear.

"Crissy is not stealing, Lady Narcissa! Master Draco—." Suddenly, Narcissa realized what the elf was talking about and smiled, though Crissy tried to beat herself.

"No, Crissy, do not punish yourself. You did not tell me anything; you simply said Draco's name. You did not disobey his orders, although you do not need to follow those orders anymore, do you?" Crissy reluctantly shook her head.

"Draco set you free?"

"When Master Draco was twelve, Lady Narcissa. About the time Harry Potter tricked Master Lucius into setting Dobby free. But Crissy liked being Master Draco's; he is so kind to Crissy!" Narcissa smiled at the voice the elf used to talk about her son—perhaps there was hope for her son after all.

"And he pays Crissy ten galleons a month to spend on whatever she wants, but Crissy is putting it in her very own Gringotts vault for when Master Draco moves out and takes Crissy with him so she can have her own room with things of her own!"

And in only a few minutes, Narcissa was happy again. Her son would be okay; for somehow, even with the parents and upbringing he had had, Draco had maintained a childlike innocence and good sense of right and wrong that would, in the end, tell him the right way to turn in the final war.

And that was what would keep Narcissa going to keep her son safe—maybe it would be alright in the end after all.

* * *

Draco was fairly confident he was annoying his godfather to the point of no return if his comments were anything to go by.

"Draco, I remember saying this afternoon was for relaxation and unwinding."

"Draco, if you do not stop pacing and muttering, I will be forced to take unwanted action."

"Draco, sit the bloody fuck down before I perform a permanent sticking charm to your pants and seat you on that chair!"

"Draco, thinking about Potter is not conducive to a relaxing afternoon."

That last one had been right on the mark, for while making lunch, Draco had managed to locate a calendar on Severus' fridge and nearly choked when he noticed the date—July 30. That, naturally, lead to the conclusion that Harry would be attempting his escape sometime today before midnight.

He wanted desperately to send Harry a birthday gift, but Death Eater mail was monitored by certain people within to check they were not spies; now, more than ever, loyalty was ensured. More than that, though, he wanted to know Harry was alright, that he was safe.

At least acquiescing to Severus' second demand, he sat in the chair in the far corner with a nondescript book on simple, first year potions before Severus could follow through on his threat; Draco was very much attached to these pants and all his clothes. And although he had settled his movements and looked relaxed, he knew Severus could tell it had done nothing to calm his nerves.

"Am I going to need to stun you for the next twenty-four hours?" Severus growled over the top of his new book. Draco glared at his godfather in as menacing a manner as he could muster.

"I refuse to sleep a bit until about this time tomorrow, Severus."

"Staying awake does nothing to aid the boy's cause. If I receive word about or from him, you will be the second to know—right after me." This did nothing to help Draco.

It wasn't that he thought staying awake and alert would help Harry, but if he allowed himself to fall asleep, he would have nightmares and disturbing dreams until he woke back up. He was far too stressed about the boy to do anything other than worry or speculate about what was going on.

For instance, when was Harry planning on leaving? Did he have a solid plan or was he just going to do what he did best and fly by the seat of his pants? When was he leaving? Where was he going? Did he have a safe house? What was it he had to do? How long until he was done?

He knew he was driving himself absolutely nuts, but he every time he picked up the book in his lap, he saw Harry's name every few words and was reduced to a puddle of worrying and shakes.

"Draco, that is enough. As much as I enjoy picking on Potter, I am sure he has a brilliant plan, or at least a decent one, to get out of the hellhole where he is staying with his family without the Order or the Dark Lord discovering him. He has a significant amount of power behind him, not to mention some clues that Albus left before that night." Severus still had difficulty reliving that night, Draco knew.

Still, no matter what Severus tried to say in order to dissuade him, the blonde could not shake the feeling that something was going to go wrong; he was just a pessimist that way. Of course, ever his opposite, Harry was optimistic about everything except the conclusion of the war.

So Draco rose from his seat, watched carefully by his godfather, and walked to the kitchen, planning on preparing some kind of meal for dinner in order to keep his mind off of Harry.

"Severus?" The man raised one eyebrow, waiting for some mention of Harry obviously. Draco did not disappoint. "If I gave you a note, would you be able to get it to Harry?" His godfather sighed.

"If he has not put up location charms to keep owls away, which I hope he has, and it does not mention any names, then perhaps. We are still being monitored, whether or not we are as close to the Dark Lord as we are." Draco nodded; how to send a love-filled letter without mentioning names?

"Thanks. Now what do we want for dinner?"

Cooking was very much like potion brewing, and yet, nothing about it was similar. In potion making, everything had to be accurate and precise—no room for error. In cooking, you could be creative, add new ingredients that the recipe did not call for at all.

But new potions were created from adding and subtracting ingredients from old recipes, so how was it different from cooking in that respect?

Still, both called for a sixth sense to the smell and look of the recipe being made to bring the final desired product to perfection. Both kept Draco's mind preoccupied, but as most ingredients necessary for potions were still in Severus' storeroom at Hogwarts, Draco was reduced to preparing dinner—it would have to do.

Perhaps if being a Potion Master did not work out, Draco could become a chef in the muggle world; that would throw a wrench in his father's plans for him, wouldn't it?

Still, as he extracted the ingredients and tools necessary to make dinner, he realized even cooking wouldn't keep his mind off Harry; nothing would.

So he settled for thinking about what to put in his letter instead. Maybe focusing on happier things would make him worry less. He began dictating the letter to himself in his head, shaking his head whenever a stupid thought cropped up, or laughing whenever he thought of a joke to put in. It was much harder than he thought it would be, not referencing anything that would point to Draco being the sender or Harry being the receiver.

As the two of them sat down to dinner a few hours and a well-prepared stew later, Draco wondered if Harry had made it safely to his destination, praying for some sign of his safe arrival.

_Please be safe, Harry._

* * *

There are three parts to traveling by floo.

First—the entrance. Saying the place is the most important part, or Knockturn Alley is as likely to be a final location as Diagon Alley. People can end up halfway around the world from a few misplaced syllables or a cough; Harry had firsthand experience.

Second, Harry's least favorite—the travel. The moments between two fireplaces are the most awkward and disorienting. When flying, most broomsticks employ a gravity charm to keep the rider relatively safer. Even when rushing straight towards the ground or straight up, everything feels natural—assuming you aren't afraid of heights.

For Harry, traveling in a floo was like space—according to the television Dudley used to watch, anyways. He had no control over his limbs, but he was still expected to keep his arms and legs tucked in. Everything was nauseatingly fuzzy, but you had to find the correct floo. Sometimes, Harry thought he could hear other people, but since no one double-flooed, there weren't really conversations—just muttered curses, which easily could have been his.

However, no matter how many times he went through the annoying method of travel, he always forgot part three.

The arrival.

Struggling to pull his hood back up, Harry massaged the back of his head, which had collided painfully with the top of the fireplace. Luckily, the Leaky Cauldron was rather empty at three in the afternoon in mid-summer; kids weren't allowed to drink in the Cauldron, which made it useless to them, and adults were still working. Only three patrons were present, and they looked rather drunk; any residents of the inn were out and about, which only left Tom.

The walk from the Dursleys' to Mrs. Figgs' had been entirely uneventful and anticlimactic, but if he had waited only a few hours, it probably would have been quite a show; he almost felt bad for what was sure to be a nearly foolproof plan on the part of the Order being useless. Of course, he snorted, they should have known he was relatively clever enough to come up with his own plan.

Everyone was constantly underestimating the Boy-Who-Lived, which was ironic considering they were all counting on him to defeat Voldemort. So what, he wondered, would they say when the realized that he had manipulated them into giving him open access to the Floo Network, enough time to escape, and that he had still managed to get his family out safely. Of course, the Order arriving and seeing he was safe as they took the Dursleys was key; had he not been there, all hell could have broken loose much earlier than planned.

As it was, the Order was probably still going to go insane with worry despite the fact that he had left a note.

_To Whom It May Concern—_

_As you can see, I have already left. I know the Order would have thought up a very impressive escape plan, but something tells me there still ran the risk of one of you ending up in danger, especially the younger members._

_As I have already found my way out, I do believe you may all apparate back to wherever it is you plan on going since Headquarters is no longer Headquarters; I wonder, would apparating out have been your plan anyways?_

_I have been as general as possible in case my Trace wears off and Death Eaters discover this note and my old house earlier than you should; if a Death Eater is reading this, please trash the place. I would love nothing more than for my "family" to deal with a mess when they come home and think I had not done it on purpose._

_My final request for everyone, though Death Eaters will probably attempt anyways, is not to come looking for me. I have something I have to do, and I've been instructed to do it alone._

_Good luck to everyone in whatever you attempt to do while I am gone, and we shall meet again soon._

—_Harry James Potter_

He hoped he hadn't given anything away. After writing the letter, he checked to make sure he had both wands, locked up the house—muggles still posed a minor threat to the house—and made his way to Mrs. Figgs' house. Moments later, he had flooed to the Leaky Cauldron, coughing soot and massaging a soon-to-be large bump on the back of his head.

Pleased his plan had gone off well so far, he walked over to the barkeep.

"Hello, Tom. One room, please." He made sure his head was bowed low enough to hide his features from view, particularly one.

"Name?" The shabby-looking man surveyed him, trying to figure out was beneath the cloak.

"How about two extra galleons per night, and we forget the name?" Harry restrained himself from laughing at the similarities between his current character and the one in a movie Dudley had watched while Harry did the dishes, the floors, the windows, the garden, and everything else—of course.

"And how long will that be, Mr. Smith?" How very cliché of him; the movie character had said that as well, or something similar.

"Let's think of a different name, shall we? John Smith is almost a dead giveaway. But I'll be here about a month."

"Very well, Mr. Miller." Harry smiled, not that Tom could see it beneath the hood.

"Miller. I like it; Jacob Miller." He was glad his voice had changed enough to confuse Tom. "I'll take my key now. Here's pay for the first two nights." He pulled twelve galleons from his pocket, glad the rooms here were so cheap, or he would have had some difficulty procuring the proper amount without a visit to Gringotts.

"Second floor, room 212. Enjoy your stay, Mr. Miller. Can I take your bags?" Harry shook his head, patting his pocket.

"No, thank you. Good day." That had been far too easy.

"Mr. Miller!" Harry spun about; Tom was shaking, wand pointed. He should have expected something like this—constant vigilance and all that. "I do apologize, but these are desperate times." Beneath the hood, Tom could not see him smile; he was the person least likely to become a follower of Voldemort's twisted schemes. Nevertheless, he pulled back his left sleeve.

"I am clean, Tom." The man, pale and shaking, nodded and lowered his wand, but continued watching Harry mount the steps tiredly.

_Tomorrow_, he thought, _I need to go shopping._

* * *

**A/N:**_ VampireAlchemist:_ Wasn't that absolutely wonderful?

_Harry Potter:_ Miller. Jacob Miller.

_Draco Malfoy:_ Sorry, dear. It's just not as intimidating as James Bond.

_Lord Voldemort:_ Traitors! Avada Kedavra!

_VampireAlchemist: _Sorry Moldywart, that doesn't work in _*my*_ world.

_Severus Snape:_ While they bicker, feel free to review.

_All:_ Please Review!

**_Next Chapter:_**_ Of Potion Brewing and Research_


	3. Of Potion Brewing & Research

**A/N:** Sorry for the incredibly long period between this chapter and the last...because the chapters are always at least 13,000 words, it takes a lot longer to produce one decent chapter for this story that one or two decent chapters for another one of my stories. Alas, the time between this chapter and the next update will also be longer due to school starting back up soon for me and my increasing workload of AP classes...sorry! I will try and write every chance I get, but I have three stories to work on right now, so I have to rotate which ones go to the back burner every now and then.

Anyways, enjoy chapter 3!

* * *

He had never fully understood just how difficult it was to go shopping until he tried it himself. Usually he was saddled with Dudley's hand-me-downs, and Mrs. Weasley or Hermione had always picked out his clothes—on the rare occasion that he made the choice to purchase new ones—so he'd never really thought about the mechanics of bargain hunting, not that he needed to, or having the right size. He didn't even know how to properly choose a shoe based on size; Petunia had always handed him Dudley's old ones and he had to use them or go barefoot.

It was a strange thing, he mused, having the money to actually go shopping. A quick trip to Gringotts and a stop at the conversion counter had set him up for a shopping spree. He had never realized the exchange rate between the galleon and the muggle pound was so great; he would never have to work a day in his life if he lived in the muggle world with the money he had.

Still, that would imply having to build up a tolerance for shopping, and he was still incredibly easy to tire out when shopping was involved.

So it was a very tired and shopping-worn Harry Potter that dropped onto a bench in muggle London around lunch time.

"I still have so much to do," he muttered to himself; why did girls love shopping so much? Did they enjoy falling into a puddle of aching legs and arms at the end of the spree? He grumbled something about having to build up an endurance to the sport-like activity before pushing himself from the seat and steering himself towards the Leaky Cauldron.

Figuring he had until the end of summer, a very long five weeks, to do research, he allowed himself some time to think more about the present; he had no illusions about his soon-to-be predicament.

Only last night, Order members and presumably Death Eaters, had bombarded Privet Drive in the hopes of whisking him away to their bases, whether that be as a guest or a prisoner depended on the group. As hard as they may have tried, there was no way the Order could keep his disappearance quiet for very long, and they were no doubt looking for him themselves, despite the wishes he expressed in his letter.

This had left Harry Potter with a very interesting question: how could he not look like Harry Potter? He found himself desperately wishing for Tonks' metamorphosis ability, but knew it was not something to be learned, and he berated himself for not at least attempting a Polyjuice when he'd had the chance; it had not been something he was overly concerned with at the time.

He had been moments from sleep, staring out his window into muggle London when it hit him like a wall of bricks; why did his disguise have to utilize his skills as a wizard? It wasn't like he was miles away from muggle shops that could supply him with everything he needed to look like a semi-different person; different enough to get past scrutiny anyways.

So along with the magical shopping he had already planned to do, Harry mentally reorganized his "schedule" to include muggle shopping and disguise preparation before reentering Diagon Alley; there was far too much chance of him being discovered.

Climbing the stairs, he groaned at the weight of the bags. It was so difficult carrying fifty pounds of muggle clothing up two flights of stairs; why didn't the Leaky Cauldron have elevators. The bag-laden boy snorted. Of course, since everyone who stayed was a wizard or witch, what need would they have for it? They could simply charm their things or levitate them once they were of age…

…Which he was now. Unable to smack himself in the forehead, Harry walked the short remaining distance between where he stood and his door before dropping the offending bags. Blaming his apparent lack of memory recollection on sleep deprivation, stress, and the after-effects of shopping, he unlocked hid door and levitated the bags into the room with a satisfied nod.

It wasn't his fault he forgot that, at the stroke of midnight only a few hours previous, the Trace on his powers had broken and he was a legal wizard. After all, six years of the 'no magic' rule combined with the fact that he'd been out and about in _muggle_ London had probably contributed to his forgetfulness.

Shaking his head, he berated himself for thinking of such stupid nonsense when there was still so much left to do for the day. He aimed his wand for the rucksack on his bed, no larger than a pack of bubble gum, and expanded it back to normal size before unpacking the items he wanted to take with him into Diagon Alley.

Feeling childish, he grinned indulgently and stuck his head into the pack, surveying the space that was as big as a room. He briefly wondered if the American Walt Disney had been a wizard; who else would have thought of that bag in the old movie about a magical nanny—Mary Popper or something similar—with the bag that had a lamp and everything else she seemed to own in it?

Still, there was an enormous amount of space in the pack—more than his old cupboard, most definitely. He shouted and laughed when he heard the echo bounce off the material of the bag, but stopped when the echoed laughter began to creep him out too much. It was amazing what magic could accomplish, he thought, like how even though there was so much space, his clothes stayed perfectly folded, one on top of the other.

Finally pulling his head from the bag, he closed it and shrunk it once more, placing it in his pocket; there were far too many valuables to leave it lying around in a place like the Cauldron. He began unpacking his muggle clothes and placing them in the dresser by the enchanted mirror that had not stopped talking since he walked back in the door. Charmed items really did start to annoy one after awhile.

After the clothes were put away and the bags they had been in were vanished, he took out the colored contacts he had picked up from the optometrist. He was a little worried, what with them being ready in only ten minutes, but time was of the essence; he could not be bothered to wait around for a week while they came in. It had been a great force of luck on his part that his eyesight was not some weird prescription and that the place had had his in stock.

Plucking the tiny brown circle from its compartment, he looked at it and grimaced; he was supposed to shove his finger into his eye and leave this thing there? How disgusting…

But, he sighed, it was for the sake of his disguise, so he'd have to summon the courage to do it. He thought it funny that the savior of the wizarding world was afraid of some harmless eyewear.

When both contacts were in, he let out a mournful sigh; he hadn't realized how accustomed he was to his eyes until they weren't themselves. Despite how many times he had been told, it never got old, the fact that he had his mother's eyes. It gave him something of her to hold onto. Their bright and vibrant color made him wonder if she'd been as bright and vibrant as they were.

The changed eyes combined with the short-cropped haircut he had stopped in for made him look different, but not enough so for him to go unnoticed. After all, wouldn't everyone expect him to do something so predictable? Maybe not the eye color change, but definitely the hair. Maybe they were even betting on some kind of hair color change from a simple color change spell?

He wished, briefly, that it wasn't so dangerous to perform that spell on his eyes so he wouldn't have to go through the squirm-inducing process of putting in the contacts, although he was glad he didn't have to worry about losing his glasses anymore.

The point was he knew he could only rely on his disguise as long as he didn't go out every day. He could not venture into the Alley often enough to draw attention; only once a week at the most would do.

Flopping back onto the bed, tired at only twelve thirty-five, he stared at the ceiling through the darkened lenses of his contacts with a sigh of annoyance. How he longed to not be who he was. To not have to dodge press, allies, and enemies, to not have to complete the stupid task Albus sent for him, to not have to appear to be the school-day enemy of the one person he loved more than anything; to not have to deal with any of it was a life he longed for.

But he realized the cost would be too great. If he was not Harry Potter, would he allies and enemies be the same, or would he have ended up on a different side? Would he still be as close to Albus?

Would he love Draco, would Draco love him, the way he did now?

And it was the thoughts of whom and what he was protecting that spurred him to continue, that made him try harder than he thought he could.

But mostly, he sighed and closed his eyes, preparing for a nap; it was Draco that he fought for.

* * *

_He was in the Forbidden Forest. The dark trees, the sounds, even the smell that assaulted his nose told him quite clearly he could not be anywhere else. Briefly, he wondered why his sense of smell was so strong in a dream, but the thought was quick as he took in the other things happening around him._

_From the way that no one even glanced at him, he could tell he was simply an onlooker, not an active participant, and he tried to identify as many people as possible._

_In a circle stood the Dark Lord's most trusted followers: Yaxley, Runcorn, Lucius, and Avery. A few others stood near the back, but only these four stood proud at the front. Hagrid's massive half-giant form seemed broken, fallen to his knees behind the arc of followers._

_Front and center, looking at something further in the distance than him, was the Dark Lord himself, looking malicious and brandishing a very elegant wand that looked much like Albus Dumbledore's._

_He turned to get a better fix on what the Dark Lord was looking at and felt his heart clench; Harry Potter on his knees, struggling to stand and fixing a pointed look at the creature in front of him in an obvious act of defiance._

_"Harry Potter," Voldemort hissed, obviously ecstatic. "It seems you have failed. All of your efforts to outrun, outsmart, and evade my followers has been in vain. You have failed your mission to Dumbledore; Nagini still lives, you fool of a boy. I have his wand, and you stand before me, or kneel before me," the Death Eaters snickered, "with a broken wand, defeated. You are done."_

_He heard Harry mutter, "You will be soon, too." Before he could even begin to work out the mechanics of the retort, a cry from the Dark Wizard and a flash of green light told him exactly what was going to happen. With a cry, he leapt in front of the very real-looking curse, knowing it would not help. He shivered desperately when the light passed through him, but it continued towards Harry, not failing to miss its mark as he had foolishly hoped._

_Mentally and physically defeated, Harry's eyes flashed defiantly before his body crumpled, one hand clenched, the other holding a broken half of his wand._

"Harry!" Drenched in sweat, Draco nearly rolled off his bed when he woke. Tangled in sweat-soaked sheets, he attempted to turn on the lamp by his bedside table, hoping to solidify the fact that he was awake and what he had just seen had only been a dream.

But it was so real right down to the smell that he could not push it off as a dream. He could ask Severus about it, but would the man take it seriously? He had been having the dream for at least a month, no variations, down to the cracking twigs. Every detail stayed the same, from the words to the positions of every person, and Draco could recall it perfectly.

It was probably about time for some Dreamless Sleep Draught.

His legs shook as he stood, but eventually he managed to move through his morning routine, showering and dressing in simple muggle jeans and a t-shirt. If he was going to get his clothes dirty with botched potions, as he knew he would, he didn't want to be well dressed.

By the time he was done and making his way towards the kitchen, it was nearly seven, and Severus was preparing his morning tea.

"Nightmares, Draco?" The simple statement was loaded with concern and curiosity that only the blonde could detect, and his lips twitched in the beginnings of a smile. Knowing there was no option but to tell the truth, Draco let his shoulders sag in mock defeat and gave a sad, little nod. "I assume you want me to put the ingredients for a Dreamless on the list?" Of course his godfather knew every little thing that went through his mind. Why couldn't Severus have been his father?

Merlin knows Lucius never should have been a father.

Last year, when he had been assigned his task, it was the furthest he had ever been from Severus, and it made him uncomfortable when reviewing his past behavior. He had been so caught up in trying to make the Dark Lord happy in the beginning, had truly wanted to be a Death Eater, that he lost sight of everything.

He never realized his mother slipping into a frenzied depression, constantly moody and depressed but always trying to help him accomplish his goal.

He never realized his father, after he was broken out of Azkaban, using him to make the Dark Lord see his own value more, rather than trying to help his own son.

But most importantly, he didn't realize the help that Severus had kept trying to give him. He never realized the help Severus tried to give him was to help him see the light, not steal the glory for his task.

All his focus had been on finding a foolproof way to kill Dumbledore to please Voldemort, but he lost sight of his beliefs; he had never wanted to serve the madman until his father made it a necessity for him.

It still shamed Draco that the Wizarding Savior, Harry "the Boy-Who-Lived" Potter, had to save him as well from personal hell and the steady self-destruction he had been well on his way to finishing.

Still, Severus had seen past Draco's pigheadedness and idiocy and given him a second chance at redemption. He accepted Draco's "needless" apologies about how stupid he'd been to ignore and scream at his godfather during the year and harbored no ill will, and he behaved no differently than before.

Like offering to make him a Dreamless Sleep Draught, something his own father would have told him to make himself after beating him for whining about something so stupid.

"Severus, why didn't you ever have kids?" He mentally scheduled a second shower later in the day as he received an impromptu spray of tea. "Thanks for that, Sev."

"I won't say sorry, because quite frankly your question warranted that. What in Merlin's name possessed you to ask such a question so bluntly? Haven't I taught you better subtlety than that?" Draco snorted; the man was more irked about the form in which he had asked than the question itself.

"Yes," he answered his godfather truthfully, "but I'm far too tired to think of a clever way to trick the answer out of you, and you'll just end up telling me anyways, so on with it." Said to Lucius, that statement certainly would have warranted a Cruciatus.

Still, his godfather glared at him as he refilled his now-empty cup with more tea. Knowing he would get his answer in, at most, a few more minutes, Draco leaned back in his seat and stirred his own tea, waiting for Severus to break.

It went without saying that the man did not disappoint.

"I get quite enough children at that blasted school, thank you very much," he snarled, obviously trying to get the topic changed as soon as possible. Draco was not so merciful.

"That's a lie. You seem to have done a wonderful parenting job in my case."

"Draco, you are not my son."

"That's a lie, too," Draco snorted. "Let's be honest, shall we? For the last six years, I've seen you three-quarters of the year. I saw my parents for Easter, Christmas, and summer. And if we were going to be brutally honest, we'd both admit that I saw more of you and Crissy than Lucius and mother for the first eleven years of my life as well. Hell, my earliest memory is you teaching me to ride a broomstick!"

His father had been far too busy kissing ass to Voldemort and his mother was constantly barraged by pureblood customs, traditions, parties, and following Lucius to his Death Eater meetings that she never particularly participated in.

Voldemort had done a real number on Draco's childhood.

"Draco, what is this really about?" Severus' words caught him by surprise and any chance of a retort died on his lips; what was it about? How had he gone from thinking of his dream, or nightmare, to asking Severus about children to Draco's childhood? It really was an odd conversation twist.

"I don't know, Sev," he finally answered as honestly as he could. "So what's the plan for the day?"

* * *

"Draco, what is this really about?" He could tell his godson was amazed that he had actually asked a direct question for once rather than tricking it out of him, but he was more focused on reaction to the meaning behind the words rather than the words themselves. The blonde looked genuinely baffled as he turned the words over in his head, appearing to try to find a response.

Throughout the conversation, Severus had noticed odd twists in not only the subject, but the way they were speaking.

What had started as a simple discussion about Draco's nightmares had quickly traveled to territory he had never believed Draco would broach; why would the boy be so interested in Severus' paternal life, or lack thereof? As the blonde began talking about his own childhood, it became more apparent; Draco was wishing Severus was not his godfather, but his actual father.

As flattering as the notion was, Severus truly did not want children of his own. When he wanted to be, he was rather good with other children; just never would he be able to handle raising his own.

Still, the Potions Master could not figure out why Draco was once again bemoaning his horrible candidate of a father; Lucius wasn't exactly parenting material either, or so Narcissa had confided in him during Draco's early years. Of course, it was clear to anyone who knew the family that Lucius had not been made to be a father. Not Draco's, in any case.

So he was back to the beginning; why Draco's change in attitude. He supposed Draco's "I don't know" answer should not have surprised him, so he didn't let it show that he was disappointed in such a lack of appropriate answers.

"So what's the plan for the day?" The subject change was so blatant, even Potter, oblivious to the extreme, would have been able to figure it out and realize that it was better to let the situation lie where it was. Not to be outdone by a Potter, however mental the competition was, Severus left well enough alone and answered the question.

"I will be taking a visit to Knockturn Alley during the morning when it is less likely to be crowded," _and Death Eaters are at the Ministry_, he added silently to himself, "and then venturing through Diagon Alley in the afternoon. I hope to be back somewhere around two so we can brew a proper Dreamless by the time you are ready to sleep tonight." Draco nodded.

"I suppose I'm going to have to find some way to amuse myself for the next few hours." Severus raised his eyebrow; the Draco Malfoy he knew would never sound so defeated just from hearing he was spending the day alone. Was the boy suffering from feelings of abandonment? He had thought him stronger than that.

He didn't say anything, choosing to nod his head.

"You may try and get a few more hours of sleep, seeing as last night was…shall we say disturbed?" Something in the boy's eyes gave him the creeping feeling that it wasn't just a nightmare, but he decided it would best to let the Draco come to him; if he asked, his godson would get defensive and then nothing would come of it.

"I'll just read." There it was again; that uncomfortable, frightened, ready-to-bolt gleam in his eyes. Whatever he had seen in his nightmare, it had made Draco extremely shaky.

But did Draco trust him enough to come to him? Only time would tell.

"Very well. I hope to return around two. Please do something constructive," he mocked, knowing whatever Draco did, he would find a way to convince Severus that it was, indeed productive. With a smirk and one raised eyebrow, he turned on his heel and Disapparated to the Leaky Cauldron's apparation point.

There was just something about floo that was so uncomfortable…the whole landing thing still bothered him.

Wondering why the run-down pub didn't have a more stable area for apparating as dust and splinters of wood flew down, he ignored the still-resounding echo from his apparation 'crack' and took a peek into the pub before sweeping through.

Being a Death Eater, spy or not, he certainly got plenty of fearful and dirty looks from passerby. Berating himself internally for not appearing in the Stained Skull, the Knockturn Alley pub, he continued down the street with his head held high with a disdainful sneer on his face, scaring the innocents further.

They were so easy to scare, so innocent and naïve, that Severus wondered how they were planning on fighting a war where the enemy used fear to win. It was with a bitter feeling of resentment in his stomach that he remembered that over ninety-five percent of these people would not be participating in the final battle, but would be not cheering Potter on, but _expecting_ him to win.

What would they do if their expectations were too high?

No, he berated, we cannot afford to think such pessimistic thoughts. Even if they are my specialty. It had been increasingly hard for Severus to remember it would all come down to Potter, and if he thought everyone was gunning for him to win but believing he would lose, he would indeed lose. It would come down to not only skill and alliances, but attitude; a very different aspect for the spy to consider.

He took a sharp turn down a dark alley behind Gringotts towards the barely lit streets of Knockturn Alley. Despite the bright and shiny windows and walls of Diagon, the wizarding black market remained as gloomy and depressing as ever with its dingy, dusty shop windows and negative coloring. It was like being surrounded by dementors, except he was unbearably hot and sticky with sweat.

His eyes scanned back and forth, peripherals open for anything lurking; just because he was the Dark Lord's right hand man did not mean he was untouchable. In fact, there were many who would want a go at his throat; a good spy was always on the lookout, and Severus Snape was the best.

Goyle, a big, burly bloke, did an odd sort of waddle that made Severus smirk with mirth. The man was not a threat to a first year; he was simply good at pointing curses at stand-still victims.

"Oi, I figure congratulations are in order, Snape!" For a moment, Severus wondered if the idiot had gone completely mental. Crabbe, who had not been far behind, finally caught up and added his own bit,

"I'll bet you can't wait to get back to that muggle-lover's school and make some changes of your own," he sniggered, raising an eyebrow in a poor imitation of Severus, which, of course, did not amuse the sinister man.

"What in Merlin's name are you talking about?" He briefly noted that the fathers seemed to be dimmer than the sons, although that wasn't saying too much for either party.

"I don't think he knows yet, Crabbe!" Goyle's harsh whisper did nothing to lessen Severus' suspicions; it was not often something slipped his attention. Most certainly anything that captured these dunderheads should have been top priority, for it meant the smarter Death Eaters knew about it already.

"Well, have a good shop, then," Crabbe commented, turning over his shoulder and shoving Goyle far in front of him, preventing the other idiot from revealing any more than they had already. But Severus was no Crabbe and certainly no Goyle; it didn't take Albus Dumbledore to figure out what the two of them meant, and Severus suddenly got a horribly sick feeling in his stomach.

He knew he would not be able to make it through both Knockturn and Diagon without a stop in between, so he slammed the door to the Warlock's Apothecary open and began shopping for the darker ingredients that would be necessary for his Polyjuice and other dark potions. Despite how sick he felt, he remained composed, a skill he had gained from years of being a slave to the Dark Lord, and measured each ingredient precisely before sealing them in their own bags and tossing them in his floating basket.

When he was satisfied that he had all the dark materials he would need, he directed the basket to the front where a wizard, apparently in his mid-thirties, with warts and greasier hair than his own sat picking the gunk from under his fingernails.

Disgusted, Severus hurried to pull his galleons from his coin pouch to pay for his items; he did not want to be in the area any longer than necessary.

"Snape! Doing some potion restocking, I imagine?" Nott Senior came up behind him and clapped him on the back. Though Severus was not particularly frail, Nott was not exactly normal size, so it was with great effort that the Potions' Master did not wince at what he was sure would later be an ugly bruise.

"Yes, I believe that is what one would be doing in an apothecary like the one we are in, Nott." He said it as coldly as he could, hoping to drive the man away so he could return to the safety of his home and Draco's conversation.

Draco; he wondered how his godson had chosen to entertain himself.

"Don't see why you need to; Dark Lord could procure anything for you without payment. After all, Hogwarts needs you to do more than brew potions now, eh? Isn't all your old stuff still in your storeroom? Nothing wrong with going back yet, right?"

Severus' blood ran cold; he had had his suspicions, which tended to be correct in situations such as these, but to hear it confirmed in such a cruel way and by such a person was, daresay, horrifying. For it to do such a thing to Severus, he felt weak; after all, most would be overjoyed to realize they would soon be the Headmaster for Hogwarts' School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Severus now wished he had thrown himself from the Astronomy Tower that night more than ever.

* * *

Gracefully and with a skill Draco had not yet acquired, Severus turned on the spot and disapparated, leaving Draco to stare at the empty spot, scowling; now he was stuck trying to find something to occupy his time. He would gladly find something if there was anything! Severus' home wasn't exactly child friendly with pets, bright colors, and a large backyard. Then again, Draco had never had much of a childhood, so he wouldn't know what to do with any of it if he had it.

Still, he had to find something to do, right?

Eventually, he forced himself into the library; he was well aware that the remainder of his summer would be spent brewing, studying, and finishing homework, seeing as he had every intention of returning, Dark Lord controlled or not.

Skimming his eyes along the rows, his breath hitched when he saw a familiar lightning bolt. Searching for the title, he allowed himself a smile and rolled his eyes; of course Severus wouldn't have a book on Potter, and a lightning bolt was a perfectly acceptable emblem for 'Lightning Defense: A Long Guide to Quick Actions.' Picking out the nearest book, 'Simple Potions in Thirty Minutes,' he sat in his favorite chair and cracked the book to page one.

Ten minutes later, he was still on page one.

It was rather depressing, he mused, that he couldn't make it through a single day without thinking about Harry Potter. That kiss they had shared at the funeral a mere few weeks ago was still fresh in his mind, and so were his words.

"I love you."

How could he love Harry? Not only was he betrothed to Pansy Parkinson, a detail that would not be announced until he made the formal proposal after seventh year, but Malfoy's were incapable of love. Narcissa certainly didn't love Lucius; their marriage was as false and planned as Draco knew his own would one day be.

If Harry didn't win.

But if he did, then that left Draco free to choose who he wanted…would that be Harry?

It circled back to that one question he had been pushing…did he love the Boy-Who-Lived? When he had said it to Harry, there was no doubt he wanted the boy. He wanted him the same way he wanted him that night on the Astronomy Tower.

There had been no feelings of love. When he saw Harry that day, barely held together, he had been well aware of what he had to say, of what Harry had needed to hear.

So he'd said it.

And then that talk he'd had with Severus; he'd claimed so passionately to love Harry. But what if all his talk had been just that: claims and talk. It wasn't that he didn't want to love Harry. With all his being, he wished he could believe in love. But the tragedy he had seen because of it was too great for him to have such a false hope. People died, killed, for love. They killed others, their lovers, themselves, and anyone who got in the way. Love was just a messy business that Draco was not so sure he wanted a part of.

But hadn't he said he loved Harry? He had told the Boy-Who-Lived point blank that he loved him, hadn't he? But he already had that one figured out; Harry believed in love, and Harry needed that belief to win, so Draco gave it to him. Draco didn't believe in it himself, because only fools, weaklings, and Harry Potter believed in such childish nonsense.

It was a thing of fairy tales meant to give an unexplainable explanation to the unexplainable. In fact, he remembered quite clearly a promise he made to himself when he had found out he was to marry Pansy one day; he would never say those dreaded three words to anyone, least of all her.

And then he had said it again, to Harry Potter of all people. Perhaps it was said in a form of trickery to boost Harry, perhaps not. All he was sure of was that he wasn't sure if he meant it or not, which didn't help him in the slightest.

And now he was realizing that, should he have to say it again, the feeling would still be as confusing as the first time.

He had tried convincing himself he wasn't in love with the Gryffindor, but wasn't that a sure-fire sign that he was in love?

Suddenly the book he had been trying to read cracked against the far wall. He realized belatedly that I had been his wild magic at work since his hands were still firmly crossed.

"I shall overlook that slight maltreatment of my personal property in the hopes that it was for a damn good reason and expect it to not happen again." Draco nearly toppled from his chair at the drawl coming from the apparation point in the kitchen.

"Sev! You're back so early," he noted, observing the clock. "Did you get everything?" Severus nodded.

"In Knockturn. I came to see how you handled the morning alone in my house. I must go back out after noon for Diagon items." Draco smirked; Severus often commented on the possessed, cursed, and unacceptable condition of the equipment in Knockturn. Not to mention the unsavory people Draco had witnessed firsthand last year. But still…something seemed to have Severus a bit shaken.

It wasn't blatantly obvious, or one of those cheesy 'in-his-eyes' things, but the thinner-than-normal lips, tightened tone, and lack of a smirk told Draco everything.

"What really happened?" Knowing he had won, the blonde simply sat back and waited, similar to earlier that morning, with a smug smirk and raised eyebrow already in place.

"The Alley had more traffic than appropriate for during work hours," the man muttered, levitating his bags.

"And?" That could not be all.

"And the majority of them were Death Eaters congratulating me on my new position at Hogwarts. I do not think it needs to be said that I haven't the slightest bit of knowledge as to what they mean."

Of course it went without saying that anything Severus perceived as a threat, Draco tended to as well.

"There are only two positions at the school he would assign me besides Potions, Draco." Without a doubt, defense was one.

"What would he possibly give you aside from Potions and Defense?" He had never seen pain more evident in all his life.

"Think, Draco. What better reward to give me than the position of the man I murdered?" It became quite apparent just what had thrown Severus into such a state. For most people, such tension would be just stress, the result of a bad day. But for Severus to show even a twitch meant something was off (unless it was double Potions with Gryffindor and Slytherin with Harry and Draco).

That Severus wasn't breaking down completely after such news made Draco so much more proud of his godfather, but it also concerned him. The man seemed to have just barely gotten over his guilt at killing the only father he had ever felt he'd had, and now he was about to be in the man's previous office nearly every day. Remembering the one time he had been in the office, Draco felt sick; Dumbledore's portrait would be on the walls forever with a Permanent Sticking Charm.

True, both men knew the truth, but Severus would feel guilt eat at him from the inside more and more every time he saw the portrait, frame or inhabitant. Hopefully, the elderly wizard would have enough common sense to vacate the portrait for the first few weeks.

Draco began to feel increasingly guilty as he stared at his godfather from his own seat after ensuring the man did not collapse before he reached his. Even as his godfather, the closest thing Draco considered as family besides Crissy, sat determined not to break down over something that most definitely deserved a bit of crying over, Draco was close to insanity debating his supposed love for the Boy-Who-Lived.

They were in the middle of a war, and his focus was on whether or not he loved Harry 'bloody' Potter. He squared his shoulders and waited for Severus to bring his thoughts back to the present; there were far more important things to deal with before the war was over.

Like making sure Severus didn't break before the final battle he so desperately wanted to take part in.

"Severus, you're not seeing the silver lining in this." The man shot a glare at him; had those words truly just come from Draco Malfoy's own mouth, or had some cheerful git 'Imperio-ed' him?

"What, pray tell, could be good about seeing the face of the man I murdered every day I go to work at a place where some of my worst memories are? I despise the years I spent at Hogwarts as a student, and my years as a teacher were spent as a double agent Death Eater!" Draco was shocked; Severus had never revealed his true feelings before; there were hints and obvious indications, but never had he been so blatant.

Severus Snape was all about subtlety.

"Sev, I…"

"Did you know I was planning on retiring as a professor after you had graduated?" The defeatist tone coming from the broken-looking man inspired pity in Draco, a feeling he never thought possible to associate with the secretive, strong man known as his godfather, Severus Snape. He hated feeling pity for someone he considered a role model.

Still, the surprises kept on rolling.

Severus, for the first time ever, told Draco about his past with dark depressing details that he had thought would make his stomach turn.

He didn't miss a word.

* * *

"Draco you and I grew up much the same," Severus began, unsure of what details he was going to tell his godson, but letting the story flow freely anyways.

_An eleven-year-old boy looked at his father, searching for approval, but receiving nothing but a curse._

_"Don't bother me while I'm brewing, boy! The Dark Lord needs his potions." Severus' father had always been a proud server of the madman. Personally, Severus didn't see anything wrong with the muggles that lived only a few streets away from the Pureblood village; no one ever mentioned Severus was only a half-blood. After all, it wasn't his fault his 'Mudblood' mother had bewitched his father with love potions and spells._

_Nothing Severus ever did satisfied the man, and he knew nothing would until he took the oath to serve his father's master._

_Years later, the summer before his seventh year, Severus found himself before the Dark Lord._

_"Please rise." With an increasing amount of difficulty, Severus forced his pain-wracked body to stand as he clutched his left forearm. Every fiber of his body screamed in protest, but he did not want to be cursed as he had seen other recruits submitted to. He realized, as he looked at the snake-faced evil monster that the Half-Blood Prince was no more; he could not be what he was previously so proud of if it made him sound arrogant, especially if it made him sound better than the Dark Lord._

_This was his master. When he looked to the left of the Dark Lord, where his father stood, he saw no pride in the man's face; he had just sold his soul for approval he now realized he would never receive._

_How…depressing._

_The transformation had taken a mere three years to turn him from the approval-seeking teenager to a bitter, resentful nineteen-year-old with better things to do than deal with his father. He had proven himself to be an apt potion brewer, far better than his father, after only his seventh year, and the Dark Lord had ordered him to be sent to Merlin's University for Wizards and Witches where, after a year, he had received his Potions' Apprenticeship._

_Albus Dumbledore, under the impression that Severus was as good a boy as he was at school, allowed Severus to apprentice under Horace Slughorn, the current Potions Master, as was required before he could obtain a Mastery._

_He despised the year he spent under the idiot; he could do a far better job teaching these sniveling brats that this glory-seeking pig. Still, he forced his best smile through classes until, by the end of the year, it was a scowl. This was what the Dark Lord wanted out of him? To teach at the school where his worst enemy taught?_

_Not that Severus had quite the problem with Albus that he did; the man was like a father to him. He had given him a real home where he was accepted, by few maybe, but still given approval he had so craved rather than "you'll never be good enough" looks as his father did._

_Was it any surprise, after the abuse of the Marauders and the want to still receive approval from his father, he would turn to the Dark Lord?_

_By nineteen, he was enrolled in the University once more, this time for two years in order to study for his Mastery. By the time he was finished, he had already sold the Potters out, not that he knew it at the time, become a double agent, but for Voldemort, and was the godfather to a wonderfully perfect Malfoy with a father like his. This boy would not grow up as he had—this he promised._

_But how could he be a proper role model when he was spying on Albus in his own school for the Dark Lord? This was where the guilt really started. This was when the decision to change began._

_Just before the Potters were killed, Severus had been teaching at Hogwarts, having replaced Slughorn, for a few months, which gave him the perfect opportunity to ask Albus for forgiveness and help, which the man gave at a high price; join the Order of the Phoenix and be a double agent—spy on Voldemort rather than Albus._

_He knew he would be watched for quite a while before the Order completely trusted him, but with the amount of Fidelius' and secretive charms on the group, Severus knew he would not be able to, accidentally or on purpose, reveal too much._

_But that would mean continuing to teach at Hogwarts. Draco would be here in just ten years; after the boy was done with school, where Severus could watch and guide him without his devil-worshipping father to hurt him, he would retire for good from teaching and go abroad as a Potions' Master._

_And as a professor, he could appear to be spying on Albus while truly reporting his actions to the Headmaster. Voldemort knew he had joined the Order, but he was under the impression it was simply to get further 'in' and report actions. He and his father had displayed enough loyalty to be trusted implicitly._

_And then Voldemort had disappeared, destroyed by Harry Boy-Who-Lived Potter. Severus was free, but Draco was not. Besides, Albus was convinced the man was not dead yet, which meant Severus would have to stay or risk looking suspicious._

_So he stayed against his will. Until Draco graduated, this was where he would be._

"I stayed to protect you from my childhood," Severus finished. "I stayed to make sure you did not suffer as I did, in or out of school. Granted, you were a Malfoy, purebred and respected, where I was a Snape, and a half-blood no less, much like Potter. Still, I did not want you to turn out as I did."

"But I still ended up a Death-Eater-In-Training," Draco lamented. He was wordlessly apologizing for Severus' wasted effort. "It was all for nothing."

"I knew it would be no other way," Severus claimed truthfully. "With your father and his connections, not to mention your high ranking in Pureblood society, what else was to be expected? I had hoped though, with my constant interfering with his parenting, or lack thereof, you would realize his approval was nothing you needed and that there would always be someone there for you—someone fighting on the other side."

"You hoped I would switch as you did, be a spy." Of course, Severus' subtlety was always put to waste when Draco bluntly called him on whatever he said. Knowing anything else would be refuted, he nodded, glaring at the boy for his blunt words. "What? I'm always blunt when you're around," he argued, smirking. "I'm always good about being _subtle_ when there're other people. It makes them mad."

His godson truly was what he imagined his own son would be, and that scared him more than anything the Dark Lord could do.

Outside, children ran in circles, screaming and laughing at one another.

"Severus, yet another blunt question, but I'll ask anyways." Severus had known he would; it was simply the boy's nature. "Why do you live in a muggle neighborhood, and why does the Dark Lord allow it?"

"I live here because it reminds me that we can live in peaceful coexistence and because I rather like the house itself." Severus smirked. "And the Dark Lord allows me to live here because I told him I liked the dismal and same-looking houses that reminded me of how only one thing should come above the rest. And I promised to torture the muggles if they came within a few feet of it; not that I'm home enough to notice if they do anything of the sort." Draco nodded, apparently satisfied.

"Severus, what are you going to do now that you're Headmaster?" His blood ran ice cold at the words coming from his own godson's mouth. What would he do? He was to be Headmaster if the ramblings of Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott were anything to go on. How had he missed something as obvious as this? How could the peons know and not the right-hand man?

He had never wanted the position of headmaster. To have to deal with everyone in the school, the teachers and their pensions, the students and their misdeeds that some teachers could never seem to handle themselves, and the general wellbeing of the school, including its house-elves and such, was way more than Severus ever wanted.

Besides, no one could ever do as much as Albus did; no one could fill his shoes, even Minerva, who was the acting Headmistress. At least, until it was announced that he was Headmaster.

Oh, the woman would have a field day with that; no one but Potter and Draco knew of his innocence. What would she scream when she saw him? Murderer? Traitor? Filth? That it was an insult to Albus' memory for him to sit in that office. Perhaps he would agree with all of what she would scream—inwardly—but she could never know.

He wondered when all was said and done if people would truly accept the truth of what had happened. If he died, he obviously wouldn't care, but if he survived, would Potter be enough to exonerate him, or was he doomed to be hated for the rest of his life.

It wasn't as though being hated was abnormal for him, but it sure as hell made everything much easier if he could talk to people without being glared at constantly.

Oh, what a mess one decision in your young life can make. Then again, looking at Draco, he realized maybe it wasn't all bad. After all, he couldn't stand to lose some of the things he had gained by being…close…to the madman these past years.

Perhaps when everything was over, it would be worth it.

* * *

_Familiar blue eyes gazed out at him from every direction, but he couldn't see them. It was as though they knew every move he was going to make before the thought to do anything had crossed his mind. He felt a tug from an imaginary force and followed the tug, knowing those bright blue eyes could only belong to one person; a person he trusted explicitly and completely with his life._

_But those blue eyes turned to a cold red as he continued following. Every cell in his body was screaming at him to turn, but he was deaf to everything except the chilling scream coming from up ahead._

_He didn't take the time to figure out where he was, where the eyes he knew were watching him came from, or who the scream belonged to. His only comfort was knowing a Death Eater would not scream in such a way; they would gloat or beg for their lives to be spared until the end. Never would any lower themselves to scream in such a way, which led Harry to believe it was an innocent up ahead._

_But still, the scream was so familiar. It was feminine and singular at first, but the closer he got, the louder it got until he realized it was the screaming of dozens of people, all speaking some undecipherable language; the different voices yelling different things made it impossible for him to comprehend what any of them were saying, until,_

_"Where is Potter? Do not tell me he did not show to a wedding for a family he considers his own, for I will not believe! Did he escape?" Suddenly, without waiting for the scenery to clear as the people had, he knew where he was; this was Bill and Fleur's wedding. But it was not set to take place until later in the afternoon—could this be sometime in the near future? That would mean he was viewing what would be in a few hours; could he change this?_

_He hoped so, as he looked away from a Death Eater torturing a redheaded man, most likely a relation to Ron._

_His dream would not end, even as he realized he was in a dream and attempted to pull himself out. If he did not get up soon, there would not be enough time to warn the guests of the danger that was to befall them. What else could possibly be holding him?_

_Without warning, he felt dizzy and his surroundings grew dim and foggy. Struck with inspiration, he shouted _Tempus_ and watched as green sparks illuminated his darkening vision with a bright _10:45 pm._ Then, everything went dark._

As Harry lifted his head from the moth-eaten pillow, he blinked at the red sparks in his face shouting 12:23 pm at him; had the spell remained behind even out of the dream? He waved his hand to dissipate the numbers; he had no reason to know what time it was. He had to figure out how to inform the wedding guests that at fifteen minutes to eleven, less than ten-and-a-half hours from now, they would be in danger.

Of its own accord, his wand jumped in his hand a fine silver fog surrounded the tip, reminding Harry of a certain spell. He complied with the wishes of his wand immediately with a cry of,

"Expecto Patronum!" His customary silver stag erupted with the more recent additions, but he respectfully bowed to them and waved his hand, letting them know only the stag was needed; everyone knew his father's Animagus was _his_. For anything else to show up would call into question exactly who was trying to communicate with them.

"Prongs, what do I do? I know Tonks used Moony to deliver a message to the school once," never mind that it had been Snape she delivered that message to, "but is there something else I need to do?" The stag bowed its head before looking him in the eyes and opening its mouth.

"I just say the message?" The stag lowered its head and poked its left antler softly into his side. "If you say so. _At 10:45 pm, there will be a Death Eater attack; escape before or face a dangerous fight you may not win._ Um, could you send that?" Prongs nodded before fading into a gentle mist and floating out the window faster than Hedwig could fly, which was saying something.

As he gazed out the window, he wondered how his friends had spent their summer: training for some plan to help him escape the confines of his muggle home, perhaps. Evading Mrs. Weasley seemed like a likely pick. Had he told them his plans and allowed them to come, they would probably be packing and preparing to leave at his words, but right now, all they knew was he was out here somewhere trying to find the Horcruxes.

With not much luck.

He'd been through every possible place in his head, but he couldn't decide which was the most foolhardy to visit first:

The orphanage where he'd grown up.

Hogwarts, his first real home.

Borgin and Burkes, his first job out of Hogwarts.

Albania, where he'd spent his years of exile. Yes, traveling to Albania by broom seemed a likely idea. Not for the first time, he cursed the licensed apparation laws and tracers and his stupid idea not to ask Hermione and Ron along. At least the both of them could apparate without being traced.

At least he'd been smart enough to research a few protective spells when he was out and about. He could only hope he could properly cast them as Hermione would if she were here.

And once again, he cursed the fact that Dumbledore had sent him on this alone; how could the man have so much blind faith in him?

He glared angrily at the innocent book the Headmaster had left him, sitting harmlessly on the edge of the dresser by his loads of empty bags; muggles were so inefficient. A snort escaped him as he realized what he had just thought; hadn't he lived like one for eleven years and a few summers since then? How could he base such accusations off a few years of living at Hogwarts?

Harry felt so many emotions conflicting within him that he couldn't take it anymore; he threw a pillow behind him into the mirror that had been spouting endless rubbish since he woke up and walked to the window. He had thought if he stayed away from it the reflection would go away, but the reflection-Harry thought he would stick around longer than he was needed.

As the indignant reflection began streaming more nonsense, he dropped his head into his hands. His life had been one train wreck after another, and this was certainly no exception to the depressing never-ending destruction that was Harry Potter.

From birth, he was destined to either destroy or be destroyed by one of the Darkest and most powerful wizards of all time.

At one, he lost his parents and was forced to live with abusive muggles who were somehow related to him.

From one until eleven, he was forced to be raised by said abusive relatives.

At ten, he had set a boa constrictor loose at the zoo after talking to it.

At eleven, a mere few weeks later, he had discovered he was a wizard. He had also found out, once at Hogwarts, that he was way behind the majority of the other students _and_ incredibly famous.

He had come face-to-face with Voldemort many times, been accused of being Slytherin's heir, set loose a rat who brought back the Dark Lord, lost many close to him, including his newfound godfather and Albus, a man like a grandfather to him, and now had no idea how to go about re-destroying Voldemort.

Not to mention he had fallen in love with his former archenemy.

Everything that happened to him seemed to go from pretty good to bad to worse to "oh, shit, how are we getting out of this one".

And he was always expected to fix it; by his friends, by his teachers, by the entire wizarding world, and even the muggles—who had no idea any of this was happening—expected him to protect them.

What would they do if he lost? How would they handle the crushing disappointment? Would they realize maybe if they hadn't bet all their money on one horse, there might have been a different outcome? That if everything that went wrong wasn't "a cry for attention from Potter", he might have had a better reason to keep fighting.

One reason alone can't keep someone fighting, and maybe Draco was a damn good reason, but Draco could always find someone else. What reason did he have to protect the wizarding world that had done nothing but tear him down from the heroic figure they thought he was to nothing more than an Azkaban convict, only to build him up once more?

They had no shame, no rhyme or reason to their actions, and no conscience. Because if it wasn't their fault, which it never was, it had to be someone's, and Albus had been far too powerful to point the finger of blame at. And Harry had been such an "easy and willing" target, right?

He dropped to his bed again, rubbing his scar in frustration. He would fight with every ounce of strength in that final battle, but not for them—never for them. He would fight because of those who could not: Cedric, Sirius, and Albus. He would fight because of those who had always believed in him, who had never believed he could be Slytherin's heir, who counted on him, not as Harry Boy-Who-Lived Potter, but as Harry, their friend.

And he would fight for Hogwarts, his one true home.

Regardless of the people in it, he thought, his mind drifting to the Slytherins he knew would be in the final battle in Death Eater robes, already branded. Would Draco mourn for the loss of his previous friends? Had they ever been his friends?

His thoughts were wandering too far, he realized, and he forced himself to stand and grab his money. With his hand on the doorknob, he was going through his mental checklist when the mirror called out, "Nice scar!" For the first time ever, the damn thing had said something useful.

It was amazing, Harry mused that no one ever thought of muggle concealer as a solution to hiding scars and marks, such as the Dark Mark. _Finite Incatatum_ only stopped charms and spells; maybe the muggles really were underestimated.

Finally, with his highlight-charmed, short-cut hair, colored contacts and muggle attire, Harry swung a cloak over his shoulder and prepared himself, praying to whatever god that existed that his disguise would work.

* * *

"Are you going to be alright, Severus?" His concern was touching, but Severus didn't want his godson's pity. "You won't be shaken up if you meet one of them?"

"The odds of them being in town when they should be at the Ministry, infiltrating and doing their jobs are slim to none. Your father and I alone are the only two under the Dark Lord who have not been ordered to infiltrate the Ministry, and he is not to leave the Manor until the Dark Lord's takeover." He despised the look of pity in those eyes, but he ignored it.

"I shall see you tonight, Draco." For the second time that day, he turned on the spot and found himself in the Leaky Cauldron.

He exited into the alley to find it still open and saw a boy, no older than Draco but very familiar, walking through. Stepping through the archway, he quickly forgot about the teen until he saw him again in the Apothecary. Now he was confused.

The average teenager would go to the Ice Cream Parlor or Quality Quidditch; certainly none but his own godson would find the Apothecary a suitable shopping stop. Still, he made an effort to put the boy out of his mind and walked over to the shelves of vials and bottles.

If he truly was going back to Hogwarts, he wouldn't need new supplies, but he didn't want to visit his old dungeon; it would bring back far too many horrible memories this early. Likewise, he would not be visiting the Astronomy Tower.

But that still left the current issue; he needed new supplies and ingredients. He already had more than enough cauldrons in the basement below his house at Spinners End, so he levitated a few packages of vials and bottles into his floating basket and proceeded to select quality ingredients from the disinfected barrels that lined the walls.

There was something deeply satisfying in selecting one's ingredients; it made the potion highly personal from ingredient to finished product. The best method was growing them himself, but some things were difficult to obtain and rather annoying, such as Lacewing Flies, that flew only in South Africa. He simply did not have time to traverse that far to obtain an ingredient necessary for only one potion, regardless of its importance.

Still, picking the perfect ingredients was familiar to him, and Severus enjoyed the minutes he spent doing so—until he ran sidelong into the boy whom he had previously forgotten.

The boy's basket was filled already by three neatly stacked and quality cauldrons, a set of scales, and a set of knives. Was this boy a beginner? Surely he must already have his equipment if he was old enough to look to be in his seventh year of schooling.

The cauldrons, Severus noted, were filled with ingredients from the other end of the line and it seemed the two of them had collided. Before Severus could find the perfect snarky tone in which to send the boy off, he stopped cold.

"Well, this was certainly the last place I expected to find you, Severus." The evident sarcasm in the teen's voice suggested otherwise, as though he knew if there was one place he would run into Severus, it would be in an Apothecary. "It has been awhile. I must confess; I thought it would be much longer before we saw each other again."

That voice…so familiar. Maybe it had never dared mouth off to him in such a way before, but he had certainly dealt with it many times before.

"Po…"

"Now, Severus, I thought you had more sense than that. Jacob Miller, at your service." The boy had certainly gotten smarter—and Severus had gotten more careless. Was it sheer stupidity or lack of sleep that had nearly made him reveal Potter's identity? Still, he raised an eyebrow.

"A pleasure, I'm sure. Is there any particular reason I get the surprise of seeing you in an Apothecary in Diagon Alley? I was sure you'd be long gone by now."

"Unlicensed apparation makes it hard to go anywhere without being completely sure of where you're going." Who had told the boy such lies? The Ministry had not the ability to trace apparation unless the individual was underage, in which case it was not apparation, but underage magic.

"Miller, you dunderhead. The Ministry can only trace unlicensed apparation if the user is underage, in which case it is underage magic. Who spilt such lies?"

"The apparation teacher," Potter, or Miller rather, said dumbly.

"Well, she certainly accomplished the goal of scaring you children into not doing anything stupid. Not that anyone ever managed to properly instill that fear in you, boy." Potter at least had the decency to look ashamed, but he still smiled, and Severus could not fight the smirk that twitched into a true smile.

"All part of the charm, sir." Severus rolled his eyes.

"Severus, you dolt. I thought we went over this at Albus' funeral?" The thought of Albus brought back the memory that he was soon to take the man's place and it made him rather sick…again.

"Severus, are you alright? You don't look well." But there had been on change in his stance; had Potter, or Harry, or Jacob (ack, this was confusing) picked up the same delicate and intricate knowledge Draco had. Still, Harry (he finally decided) looked genuinely concerned.

"Physically, I am fine, Miller. Mentally and emotionally, I am…not. You will find out soon, I am sure, the reason why." Saying anything else would call into question how the knowledge had leaked and the Dark Lord most likely wanted a big bang with his announcement; he was rather into the big and flamboyant.

The Potions Master realized his answer had not exactly answered the boy's actual question.

"Do not worry about me, Miller. Now, an apothecary is certainly the last place I ever expected to see someone such as you."

"I needed to stock up on certain ingredients and make a few potions. I would buy them, but my old professor taught me it was best to make your own; you never know what your enemies are planning, after all." Here, Severus had to let a smile breach the hard and cold mask. So perhaps the boy had learned something.

Maybe Potter wasn't so bad after all.

They spent the rest of their shopping time picking ingredients and talking about Draco's new place of residence for the summer, Harry's disguise, and the Dark Lord's intentions. It was, daresay, comfortable, and Severus found the boy was actually tolerable when he wasn't being taught.

But as they went through the ingredients and picked through the unacceptable ones, Severus was pleased and proud to see he had managed to pound some kind of knowledge into Potter's thick skull. The Boy-Who-Lived, rather than tossing random ingredients into the bags without checking for quality or imperfections, was actually inspecting them thoroughly. It took him a bit longer than Severus, who had used this skill since his first year and become a master at it, but it was definitely a start considering how much he seemed to detest Potions all through Hogwarts.

It was an odd feeling when Severus realized he was displeased that they had to part; Draco would get concerned if Severus hadn't apparated back soon, thinking something had happened, and the more time they spent together, the greater chance there was that a Death Eater off duty at the Ministry would see them and ask Severus who he was and how he knew him.

They shook hands, and Severus apparated back home feeling oddly elated at seeing Harry. Their conversation almost made him forget he was about to become Headmaster at a school he wanted nothing more than to get far away from.

Almost.

* * *

Harry had known Severus was behind him since he entered Diagon Alley; the man had an aura about him that simply spread about wherever he was. Turning around and acknowledging him, however, was not the best idea; he wanted to see how long his disguise held up against the best spy he had ever met.

He had the feeling the man was avoiding him or simply ignoring him, because he felt careful scrutiny for about half a second before he was passed over in favor of the apothecary products. He felt the eyes again a few moments after he went to the front of the store to speak with the worker, but the eyes passed over him again.

Granted, he had not actually spoken to Severus yet, nor had the former professor taken a glance at his face, but that meant, from the back, Harry was safe. At least he wouldn't have to be on the lookout as much for spells from the back.

After speaking with the clerk and getting cauldrons, scales, and knives, he shuffled his way with his floating basket to the other end of the room from Severus and began choosing beetles.

Above the barrel, on a shelf, was a box marked 'Bezoars.' A box of six was forty-five galleons; Harry wondered how they were obtained and what happened to the goat to make them so expensive. Still, to have one in his pocket and on hand was a good option in his book, so he levitated the pack into his cauldrons.

Finally, one barrel down from Severus, after glancing back at him every now and then, Harry could take it no longer. He missed having human contact and, oddly enough, he missed Severus. Not like he missed Draco, but he still missed him.

Without realizing the fact that Severus had moved another barrel down, Harry moved to the same one moments later and collided with the sinister-looking man. Looking up, he grinned and said,

"Well, this is certainly the last place I expected to see you, Severus." He knew the man could tell by his sarcastic tone that it was indeed a place he would have placed money on Severus being, but he also knew it took a few moments for the man to realize who he was, so he added, "It has been awhile. I must confess; I thought it would be much longer before we saw each other again."

That did it; Severus knew he was—after searching his face for the longest part of a minute. And he very nearly blurted it out when Harry neatly cut him off and insisted on being called by his alias. What had almost caused that slip? Did he not notice the disguise Harry had worked so hard on? It wasn't like the man to let something so important escape his notice _and_ almost flub the whole thing up. Something was wrong.

Then, he'd asked why Harry was still in Diagon Alley and not already searching for more Horcruxes. Harry had certainly gotten a surprise when he learned unlicensed apparation could not be traced if the wizard or witch was of age.

"Well, she certainly accomplished the goal of scaring you children into not doing anything stupid. Not that anyone ever managed to properly instill that fear in you, boy." Here, Harry looked down with a barely suppressed grin on his face; to Severus, that 'barely suppressed' meant blatantly obvious.

"All part of the charm, sir." Six years ago, if someone had told him he was going to be playing a game of witty banter with Severus Snape, he'd have asked if they'd just escaped the 'men in white.' Still, it felt comfortable, and he enjoyed it.

Severus explained to him how he had tricked the Dark Lord into letting Draco stay with him, away from the Dark activities at the house he had previously been required to take part in, under the guise of helping Severus with potions—of course he could not be bothered with twenty different potions at once, Potions Master or not.

Harry told Severus of his escape and transformation into Jacob Miller and his newfound disgust with shopping. The older man could not help laughing, and Harry glared before joining in.

Through all their talking, Harry was proud to note that Severus looked extremely satisfied with his ability to pick the most quality ingredients rather than tossing them into the bag. Apparently, Severus realized he had managed to teach Harry something.

He was almost sad half an hour later when they both finished their picking; for Severus to be gone any longer would raise suspicions and Harry had research to begin if he was going to get onto his actual hunt anywhere near on schedule.

With a promise to say hello to Draco and a firm handshake filled with understanding between the two, Severus turned to the Leaky Cauldron's apparation point while Harry wandered aimlessly in Diagon until he was certain Severus had gone; Severus had said it wouldn't be safe for him to know where Harry was exactly, and Harry agreed.

By six o'clock, all three cauldrons were bubbling with pepper-up, skele-gro, and Dreamless Sleep. The latter, he knew, would take another day, so when the batch of skele-gro was finished, he would begin a Draught of the Living Death, a complicated but one-day potion should he need to eliminate someone for a day while he took their place with a Polyjuice, courtesy of Slughorn and his horrible protection skills during sixth year. Why the man was brewing Polyjuice at the end of the year, Harry hadn't questioned, but once he saw the bubbling brown substance and knew what his quest was, he knew it would be smart to keep the stuff around.

Thank Merlin potions didn't expire.

In between simmer periods and stirring and chopping and adding to the potions, Harry sat at the desk and read through the journal on the only clear spot where the potions and the ingredients weren't.

Realizing how much information was in the book, he cursed himself for shrinking it down with the rest of his things, rendering it unreadable for the time he was at the Dursleys.

He placed his finger on the lock as it read his magical signature and fingerprint, scrawling his signature to the last loop on the cover underneath Albus' ever-present one. The cover opened easily and stayed in place, a sign of a well-worn and used book. So Albus had written plenty in the book, or at least often.

_Harry—_

_If you are reading this book, I am dead. I would like to believe that I am immortal, but that is quite impossible, so I have written everything I would tell you if I was alive. If I am dead, I have most likely given you information about the Horcruxes and expect you to destroy them all before the final battle._

_In this book, I have marked and mapped and plotted and guessed the locations and objects Voldemort has used for his Horcruxes. I cannot begin to guess how many yet, but I have written a list of places he was likely to hide one of his treasures:_

_The orphanage_

_Hogwarts_

_Borgin and Burkes_

_Albania_

_The Riddle house in Little Hangleton_

_Gringotts'_

_I am sure you will be able to find the reason for each of the places I have listed.I have written in this book like a journal, so some things I did not know in say, tomorrow's day, I will know in an entry six months from now. Be patient, as I am, or was, old and it has taken me much time to compose this book for your use._

_You have destroyed the diary so that is our start. I believe you will need to wait until the final battle for Nagini, as finding her would mean crossing paths with Voldemort before the others are destroyed._

_I am sorry I have no more information for you today, but skip to the next entry and perhaps I will have found something out for you._

—_Albus_

Everything Albus had written, Harry had already known from either his own knowledge or from what he had been told throughout the year. Apparently, though, everything between second year and Albus' death in sixth year was still not known, which meant no ring, no idea of splitting the soul into seven making six Horcruxes, and, unfortunately, no idea what Gryffindor or Ravenclaw's object was. In fact, all he seemed to know was Horcruxes, that Voldemort would place the object's somewhere special, and that the diary was one and already gone.

The only new knowledge was the possibility of something being at Tom's father's old house or Gringotts. He understood the former, but why the goblin's bank? What was so great besides the fact that nothing, and he meant nothing, could actually be stolen?

His room, incidentally, had a wonderful view of the white marble building. He remembered his first encounter with the sight; the vastness and sheer brilliance had intimidated him far before he had seen the 'Warning' plaque or what manner of creature worked behind the desk. To him, the building had embodied power.

Perhaps it had done the same for young Tom Riddle. To him, being a part of the wizarding world would mean having the financial means to actually live in the world, and to have a key to the impressive white marble bank would mean being a true member of the wizarding world.

It was beginning to frighten Harry how well he _thought_ he knew Voldemort's mind, because he realized the only reason he had an inkling what the crackpot madman devil's-disciple was thinking was because Harry had had the same childhood and the same abuse Tom Riddle had.

Minus the going insane and obsession with immortality part, of course. But there had been times when his wild magic nearly hurt his family, if they could be called that. He had wished to be able to hurt the Dursleys every now and then the way they hurt him. And he had been as relieved as he was sure the young Dark Lord had been to receive his letter (after many issues, of course) and be free from the confines of his magic hating, 'perfectly normal thank-you-very-much' relatives.

He sometimes wondered what it had been to save him from going dark the way Voldemort had. He had the same tools, the same framework, and he even had a piece of Voldemort inside him. Truthfully, he didn't know what circumstances had led to their differences, but he thanked Merlin every day. To live like Voldemort was a fate worse than death in Harry's book—but maybe he was a bit biased—although being the Boy-Who-Lived wasn't too appealing either.

The next entry was shorter than the previous.

_Harry—_

_I do not have dates on these entries, but I will only be writing when I discover something of relevance; not every day or once a week. However, know I began this journal after the events of the Triwizard Tournament. I knew the possibility of Horcruxes existing, specifically the Dark Lord's, was very likely from your second year when I investigated the remains of the book you gave back to me when Lucius Malfoy refused to take it back._

_It was very lucky the man did not know what he had given to Ginny or what he so carelessly threw back at you, a mistake he will pay for at the hands of the Voldemort._

_It is my belief that Voldemort does not think we know of his Horcruxes and that he believes we simply thought the book to be nothing more than a Dark artifact—not his soul, or part of it._

_Regardless, we must be careful in destroying the next Horcruxes if we are to prevent the Dark Lord from becoming too incredibly suspicious. If he feels we are getting too close, he may remove them and start keeping them all close to him, in which case we shall fail._

_This entry was put in the summer before your fifth year, and I will continuously try and give you knowledge of when I am writing so you do not feel so out of the loop of when I am speaking._

—_Albus_

So now he had confirmation of where in time Albus was in the journal. That meant he had another year's worth of entries before he got into anything worthwhile.

Researching was going to take way longer than he thought; coffee was definitely going to be necessary.

* * *

**A/N:**_ VampireAlchemist: _Ah, yet another chapter completed! Beautiful...wonderful....MAGNIFICENT!

_Harry Potter:_ What the hell? The entire chapter was about Malfoy and Snape!

_Draco Malfoy:_ That's because the public loves me and, to get as many reviews as possible, the beautiful authoress is exploiting my amazingness.

_Severus Snape:_ Get your head out of your ass, Draco.

_VampireAlchemist:_ Actually, Sev, let's see if he's right. Reviewers, I need 5 reviews on chapter 3 to keep Draco alive in the next chapter.

_Draco Malfoy:_ You can't do this to me again! You already did that in Colors of the Wind, and if I remember right, I died and then you brought me back to life!

_VampireAlchemist:_ Not my fault.

_Draco Malfoy:_ How is that not your fault!?

_VampireAlchemist: _It's just not. Apparently, the reviewers didn't like you in my story.

_Draco Malfoy:_ But it's about me!

_VampireAlchemist:_ And Hermione...you're quite the player, ain't ya Draco?

_Harry Potter:_ Draco...you...you cheated on me?

_VampireAlchemist:_ Save it, Boy-Who-Lived-To-Do-A-Shitload-Of-Impossible-Things. You're with Ginny.

_Severus Snape:_ If you care to know what they're bickering about, head over to li'l Miss Vamp's author page and take a look at **'Colors of the Wind.'**

_VampireAlchemist:_ At least *someone* is trying to promote my good work!

_All:_ Shut it!

_VampireAlchemist:_ Oh hell no. I'll bite you!

_All:_ Please Review!!

_Crabbe & Goyle:_ Heey...you...um...made...fun...of...us...

_Severus Snape:_ And with good reason. Now fetch me my fuzzy bunny slippers, lackeys!

_All minus Severus Snape:_ *cricket chirps* fuzzy...bunnies? *pass out*

_Severus Snape:_ Why do *I* always get saddled with this job? *sigh* Sorry for the exceptionally long drabble and PLEASE REVIEW!

_VampireAlchemist:_ *wakes up* Yeah, 5 Reviews or Draco dies!

**_Next Chapter:_**_ Of Invasions and Inheritance_


	4. Of Invasions & Inheritance

**A/N:** It's been quite awhile; I'd forgotten how long it takes to write one of these effing chapters. For those of you who don't believe me, try writing a 10,000 word story. Then, try writing a story where every chapter is 10,000 words. Yeah, my chapters are longer. Add to that the fact that I got a wee bit distracted by my other stories and FORGOT a LOT of what happened in this one so I had to reread all my stuff...let's just say I'm hoping the story still flows alright :) I know Chapter 3 was very DracoSeverus-centric, so this one's very Harry-centric. In the future I'll bring more POVs in (Hermione/Ron at Hogwarts, Narcissa perhaps, etc.), but for now, it was mainly centered on Harry and his inheritances.

Enjoy and thanks for those of you that are still sticking with me...it's getting long!

* * *

_Of Invasions & Inheritance_

* * *

"Severus, I can't believe you expect me to write an essay on Draught of the Living Death! Can't you just pass me automatically?" Draco has heard the telltale crack of his godfather apparating back into the house and begun whining almost instantaneously. After all, it wasn't as though Severus thought Draco needed the Potions practice. If anything, Draco could be teaching the rest of his peers; he was, after all, vying for a Potions Mastery himself after schooling.

"You know, as well as I do, that would equate to nearly all the teachers never making Granger do any of her homework simply because she knows it so well. I'm afraid I cannot give the appearance of favoritism, Draco." The blonde scowled at the hint of sarcasm in Severus' voice, but went back to writing inane nonsense about the potion—of course, it was still worthy of top marks.

They sat in relative silence for the next half hour as Severus unpacked his supplies and Draco's quill scratched against the parchment.

"I saw Potter in Diagon Alley," Severus finally said, finishing with the last of his supplies. Draco's eyes were already trained on his godfather.

"What? I thought he had already left?" Severus shook his head.

"It seems the boy is actually planning on thinking ahead this time," Severus chuckled. "He is information gathering." Draco was torn; he desperately wanted to see Harry, to visit him, but he knew both their lives were forfeit if anyone saw them, and someone would see them.

His heart painfully constricted in an unknown fashion and Draco could not figure out why; it wasn't as though he loved Harry, right?

* * *

_'If I have to read anymore useless information, I may start going insane,'_ Harry thought to himself. He had read a year's worth of entries on speculations that Albus thought were important. Of course, he could not skip any entries, should some of them be important.

He stirred his Pepper-Up clockwise three times before setting a twenty minute timer over it and moving on to his Headache Drafts and Draught of the Living Death. At this rate, he had be brewing potions until he was Severus' age!

_I still do not know how many Horcruxes Voldemort has made, but I know how to find out._ They already knew—six Horcruxes plus Voldemort himself. _During Tom's seventh year, we had a Potions' Professor who Tom considered an annoyance, but an intelligent man when it came to Dark Arts. Tom believed in powerful numbers; it is possible when this professor told Tom about the Horcruxes, Tom gave him a clue as to how many were to be made._

_ I cannot hope to gain this information without your help, Harry. If we have not already done so, I will need you to gain the memory of one Horace Slughorn pertaining to Tom's questions about Horcruxes._

_ I have also located another in his old childhood home. It is his grandfather's ring, and I will be off for it as soon as term ends. I am currently otherwise engaged after being sent away from Hogwarts due to the Ministry._

_ Perhaps by the next entry, I will have gotten the ring._

Once more, he could have skipped the entry in favor of something more productive, but he had to read the entire thing if he wanted to ensure he was completely updated.

_I have gotten the ring and destroyed it, but at great personal risk. Harry, by the end of this year, I will have died, and I must say I am sorry for everything that will happen between now and then._

_ Draco Malfoy has been assigned the duty of my executioner and Severus Snape has taken an Unbreakable Vow to carry out the duty if Draco is unsuccessful to remain in a position of trust. I have ordered Severus to be the one to complete the job, which will ensure Draco a chance at switching sides without my murder on his hands._

_ Do not hold this against either of them._

_ We shall be retrieving Horace in two night's time, so hopefully, by the time I am dead, we will be able to retrieve his memory as well._

_ I may also be on the verge of discovering the location of yet another Horcrux, as well as a few possible ideas of what they may be._

The sky was darkening outside his window, and even his mirror had begun dozing off, becoming bored with his activities. Who wants to watch potions brewing and research?

Unable to continue reading the drivel he was already well aware of, Harry stood and grabbed his cloak. His Living Death needed to sit for two hours anyways, and after bottling his other two potions and performing a simple scourgify on the cauldrons, he left the room to wander the shops for awhile. Perhaps some ice cream would make him feel better?

He passed Tom, who still did not completely trust him, and gave a mock salute, tipping his head in acknowledgement. Lately, he had been turning into more of a jerk; it was something he had noticed, but found no reason to remedy. Really, who was around to comment on it?

Last summer, Diagon Alley had been nearly completely shut down from Death Eater raids. They had spread fear throughout the Wizarding World in a calculated attempt to bring the world to its knees—it had worked. Now, after all their attempts to destroy everything, they had rebuilt it while making sure they remained in charge.

Olivanders' was replaced by another wand maker—less known and less quality—and the ice cream parlor, while outwardly the same, had taken on a less cheery air. The owner no longer doled out free ice cream to students studying and getting ready for term to start up again, and there were hardly ever smiles. Everything had taken on an air of despair, and Harry felt it numb him inside.

If he failed, this was what the world had to look forward to—maybe worse.

With this thought firmly implanted in his mind, Harry stood, left a gracious tip on the table, and made his way back to the Leaky Cauldron. Pointless drivel or not, whether he knew it or not, it was his job to learn everything Albus had left for him and use it to get rid of the madman that threatened everything right with the world.

He would not let Albus down after everything the man had done for him.

Of course, when he forced himself to read the next entry, he was rewarded with some information. It was a list of the Horcruxes.

_Diary_

_Ring_

_Snake_

_Locket_

_Chalice_

_Something of Gryffindor or Ravenclaw_

He already knew these, though. It was the next bit that he paid closer attention to.

_ I have already informed you of the locations I believe Riddle may have hidden his Horcruxes. I now believe I can accurately guess not only the location of one of our items, but the actual form. The only item left behind by Gryffindor was the sword, which currently resides in my office. Ravenclaw, however, had two items—a scepter and a diadem. The scepter, it is said, was destroyed in the muggle 100 Years' War, as it was kept by the English family at the time. There is no record of the diadem. Some claim it was lost in time, although the same was said about the locket and the chalice. Therefore, I am led to believe it is the diadem that he will have hunted._

_ I also believe one of his items is at Hogwarts._

_ Harry, though I may seem to know everything that happens in the school, I do not. She has mysteries that escape even my most valiant attempts to learn them. Even I did not learn of the Room of Requirement until just a few years before you attending. I am sure there are mysteries to the castle that you have learned that I do not know._

_ Likewise, I am sure there were secrets Riddle uncovered. I do not know if it is the diadem, the locket, or the chalice we will find in Hogwarts, but I shall continue to search until I find it._

Harry felt a slight twinge of something—victory?—knowing that Voldemort never succeeded in turning a Gryffindor item into a Horcrux. Moments later, that feeling was crushed by the knowledge that he would have to return to Hogwarts at some point. It was something he had always known, of course, but he was not certain he could stand on those grounds remembering the last few moments of Dumbledore's life.

His eye slid to Dumbledore's wand, his wand, and shivered. He had not used it yet, though the feeling of warmth he had felt when he first picked it up still made him shiver when he remembered it. Above all else, Albus had said he needed this wand. He had, of course, also failed to mention why. It was a common occurrence for Harry to be left in the dark.

He could say he knew Albus better than anyone, and he liked to think he did. Unfortunately, that also meant knowing Albus liked to give him enough clues to figure some things out for himself, never putting the puzzle together, merely giving him enough pieces to sketch it out.

And part of the puzzle was Hogwarts. Another was Gringotts (maybe). On some things, he was relatively sketchy.

He glared at the journal; more than relatively. There were still over a hundred entries, at least, and the back of the book was blank. Presumably, it was for Harry to make his own notes, though he could imagine no circumstance where he would learn more than Albus. It seemed he was only catching up.

Harry leaned back in his chair, resting his hands on his head and breathing slowly, trying to prevent the stress from soaking into him like a sponge. Trying to clear his mind, it wandered to Draco and Severus. Were they alright, completely secure in Voldemort's ranks? He could only hope.

* * *

Draco could only hope Harry was thinking about him as often as he thought about the Boy-Who-Lived. The blonde was secure in his godfather's home, reading and finishing meaningless homework. Harry was out there, trying to stay hidden from the infiltrated Ministry and Death Eaters. He could only hope the Gryffindor had gained some common sense over the years.

Severus had told him Harry was well-disguised—it had taken the Master some time to realize who he was.

"Severus, you said I could write Harry a letter, right?"

"Now that I know where he is and his identity, it should not be difficult or dangerous." His godfather had been in his personal brewing room for the last few hours since returning from Diagon. The words he had imparted, however, about Harry staying in the Alley under the name Jacob Miller, had caused Draco to become seriously distracted from his homework. Luckily, even distracted, Draco could scrape excellent grades.

They say down to dinner at approximately seven, but were interrupted halfway through with the call from their _Master_. Sharing a look of apprehension, they stood and donned their proper robes before apparating to the gate outside Malfoy Manor. And Draco had been hoping to not return for some time. The last meeting still caused bile to rise in the blonde's throat.

"Ah, Severus and Draco, please sit." Again, Draco fought the urge to vomit. Severus had replaced his Father as the Dark Lord's right hand. Draco, likewise, was Severus' right hand. To Voldemort's left sat Bellatrix Lestrange. At the other end of the table, opposite the Dark Lord, was his Mother, and he shivered. To her credit, his Mother looked as Pureblooded as ever, sitting with a regal air that spoke of generations of good breeding and manners.

For a moment, he caught Severus glancing at his Mother. He told himself to remember the look in his godfather's eyes for later questioning.

"Tonight is the night, my loyal followers." Draco had learned long ago to maintain an emotionless visage at these meetings, lest a disbelieving expression or amused sound escape him. Loyal? Hardly.

"Tonight," the madman continued, "the Ministry falls. Tonight, Scrimgeour dies and our ranks take over, allowing us full control over our world. Tonight, we attack the family of Potter's best friend, where Potter will most assuredly be." Here, Draco had to fight to keep his face neutral instead of the triumph he wanted to demonstrate. Harry was in Diagon Alley, far from the Weasleys.

"William Weasley and his blushing bride-to-be are to be married tonight, and though the location is under a Fidelius, when the Ministry falls, finding it shall not be difficult. Only I and the fool Dumbledore had enough power to create a Fidelius without the Ministry becoming aware. Potter would not miss an event of such import to his precious friends." Another sneer from the madman as low laughs emitted from the rest of the table.

"Severus, you will lead the attack on Diagon Alley. Draco, you will accompany them; learn what you can so I may send you as the leader on future attacks." Draco bowed his head to suppress the shudder he felt from the cold eyes being directed towards him. "We must, after all, make sure you learn from the best." There was a moment of silence before the cold, raspy laughter made Draco visibly shiver. Luckily, the Dark Lord's eyes were focused further down the table.

"Lucius, why do you stiffen so? Is it, perhaps, that you felt your son should learn from you? You, who have failed me so many times these past few years? You, who lost me the prophecy, thus allowing Potter to know of it? Or Severus, who helped your son through the year, avoiding suspicion from Dumbledore? Severus, who showed him how to betray so thoroughly and killed the fool? No, Lucius, I daresay Severus has proved a better mentor for your son than you could hope to be." Draco couldn't believe the words spewing from Voldemort.

It could not be normal for the madman to tote on about fatherly qualities, not that his ideas of the topic quite matched with what he believed Severus and Draco's to be. Then he realized it was sport for the Dark Lord. His loyal followers were built up, put onto pedestals as examples to be reached by the rest.

But when there could not be a muggleborns or other target to be found immediately, Voldemort found his sick, twisted fun to the detriment of his followers that had failed him. Draco could not say he was disappointed that his Father (how he detested the word) was the Dark Lord's target.

"The attack begins at ten," Voldemort straightened, again addressing the whole table. "The Ministry's defenses are at its weakest, and the Order will not be prepared for a response attack—many of them will be at the wedding. When the Ministry has fallen, two attacks will begin simultaneously. Severus' raid on Diagon will keep what Order members there are distracted while Bella leads her group against the Weasley blood-traitors.

"Severus and Bellatrix—organize your groups and have some fun." He said this in that specific tone of voice that made Draco think of nails on a chalkboard combined with the Cruciatus Curse. Beside him, Severus had turned pale and Draco felt a stab of sympathy for his godfather.

* * *

He knew when they got the call it could be nothing short of disastrous. Draco, of course, had become accustomed to schooling his features into neutrality, learning to expect things that would disgust him. Severus, on the other hand, had learned to identify the intensity behind the calls and pair them with reasons for the meetings.

The Dark Lord was not angry—there was no worry of someone in their midst being targeted because of a mission gone wrong.

He was not neutral, either—this was no ordinary information-gathering.

He was pleased, excited—Severus shivered to think what this could mean. He could only hope Harry had not been discovered in Diagon. He thought of a way to alert the boy of anything, but he did not want to risk "Miller" being discovered if he had not already been.

So he and Draco arrived at the Manor, apprehensive and unprepared, both training their minds to be as un-incriminating as possible.

"Ah, Severus and Draco, please sit." With those few words, Voldemort confirmed Severus' beliefs. There was a dark, amused lilt to the creature's voice promising horror for someone. Scanning the table, ignoring the customary introductory words, Severus observed the rest of the followers. He ignored Bella, who sat in rapt attention of her Master. Her whole life had revolved around terror, death, and destruction—Voldemort was the epitome of perfection to her.

Unlike her sister. Narcissa was born into a family well-practiced in Pureblood tradition, a fact that was clearly evident in her posture. Even in the presence of madness, she sat tall, her perfect blonde hair pulled back and her hands folded in her lap. Her gaze was directed at her hands, as it was proper for the Mistress of the house to not involve herself unless directly addressed by a guest, but she seemed to feel Severus' gaze.

For a moment, only a brief moment, her gaze ticked up to meet Severus and he sent her a reassuring nod. He would keep Draco safe, no matter the consequences. "Tonight the Ministry falls." Here, Severus returned his ears to the conversation at hand, noticing Narcissa's eyes return to her lap. "Tonight, Scrimgeour dies and our ranks take over, allowing us full control over our world. Tonight, we attack the family of Potter's best friend, where Potter will most assuredly be." False information had made its way to the Dark Lord, thankfully. Only two people in the world knew of Potter's true location, and it was not with the Weasley family.

He had heard of the attack on Potter's home. The original Order plan—duplicating Harry—had been carried out with the absence of one pair. Mad-Eye had transformed into another Harry and ridden with Hagrid. As far as Voldemort had been concerned, his Death Eaters had royally screwed up. Because Severus and Draco had served him so well only months before, they had been spared from the meeting where he laid into every participating Death Eater.

He still shivered when he heard what had happened to the attending Death Eaters, though not in horror of what had been done to them. No, it was in relief that Draco had been spared. And, of course, that Potter had managed to get himself out in time.

To further his ignorance, Voldemort continued to list reasons he knew Potter would be at the wedding. Then, the Dark Lord gave Severus the best possible gift he could have at that moment.

"Severus, you will lead the attack on Diagon Alley. Draco, you will accompany them; learn what you can so I may send you as the leader on future attacks." Was Fate trying to apologize for the years of unfortunate hands he had been dealt by dealing him winning ones from now on? It was, quite possibly, the best way to ensure Draco was safe and Potter was not captured.

"We must, after all, make sure you learn from the best." Severus glanced down the table at Lucius, who was a poor, depressed shadow of the cold, cruel man he had once been. He noticed the blonde had stiffened visibly; Voldemort noticed as well. As their _Master_ proceeded to mock Draco's father, Severus took note of Draco's position.

The boy was a twin of his mother, staring into his lap, unsure of where to look. He still lacked the confidence he had demonstrated at Hogwarts, unsure of what actions would earn him accreditation from Voldemort, and which would earn him a sure cursing. He noted the Dark Lord's commendation of his actions over the past year, culminating in his murdering of Albus. Then…

"No, Lucius, I daresay Severus has proved a better mentor for your son than you could hope to be." Draco's words about Severus being a father rushed back to him, and he forced himself to breathe evenly, awaiting the end of the cursed meeting.

"The attack begins at ten," Voldemort straightened, again addressing the whole table. "The Ministry's defenses are at its weakest, and the Order will not be prepared for a response attack—many of them will be at the wedding. When the Ministry has fallen, two attacks will begin simultaneously. Severus' raid on Diagon will keep what Order members there are distracted while Bella leads her group against the Weasley blood-traitors.

"Severus and Bellatrix—organize your groups and have some fun." Fun. He would be expected to provide proof that he had been an adequate leader and example for Draco. He would have to torture on this particular attack. Simple killing would not be enough, thankfully—he would not be expected to murder. He would be expected to use the Cruciatus, possibly Imperius, to intimidate the average witch or wizard.

Most shops, thankfully, would be closed. The idea was to attack when the Ministry was at its weakest. At ten, of course, there would still be workers inside, so automatic precautions for security would not be activated yet. Voldemort was arrogant, but not to the detriment of his plans. He was willing to attack at a weak point instead of making a show of strength.

He froze when he realized he would have to get a message to Potter even quicker—it was already nine. The Leaky Cauldron would be the first place hit; there were more targets there. He would surely make an attempt to save everyone.

As Voldemort released the group, Severus took advantage of the confusion to slip into a back room and make a quick Patronus message.

* * *

It was nine-thirty when Harry finally remembered the message he had sent mere hours ago. In little more than an hour, his friends and their family would be attacked by Death Eaters unless they heeded his message. He could only hope his message had made it without interference.

He turned to use the bathroom and stifled a yell of surprise. A silver doe—a close match to his own stag—stood with a cocked head, staring at him. Around its neck was a flower. For a moment, he was reminded of the Lily around Prongs' antler, but upon closer inspection, he realized it was smaller with a different shape. It was a Narcissus.

Then the doe's mouth opened, and he forgot the flower, intent on hearing whose Patronus this was and what they had to say.

**The Death Eaters are to attack Diagon Alley at ten. Do not attempt to play hero. Go to your vault at Gringotts' immediately and seal yourself inside; every exit out of the Alley has already been sealed. Stay until you receive another message from me. Reply.**

The doe continued to stare at him and he waited for it to disappear like the others always did. _Reply?_

"I understand?" The doe seemed to smile at him before a flash of light obscured it. Then, it was just Harry and his reflection again.

"Well, I suppose we'd better pack up, eh?" Harry glared at his reflection before turning to his potions. He placed a stasis spell on the three cauldrons, setting them inside his pack. It occurred to him as he packed the rest of his items up that, prior to a few weeks ago, he would not have listened to any orders from Severus, nonsensical or not.

It also occurred to him how much he missed Draco's voice.

Within ten minutes, he had everything packed, the bag shrunk and in his pocket. Tom tried to stop him, wondering where he was off to in such a hurry, but he ignored the barkeep, hoping the man would still be alive after all of this. It was hard for him to trust Severus and listen to his advice, but he knew he could not play hero.

With a quick _Tempus_, he realized it was 9:50 and he hurried his pace, entering the always-open bank. There were, of course, the shadier people that preferred to do business at night, and there were more than enough goblins to protect the vaults.

_If you seek beneath our floors  
A treasure that was never yours  
Thief, you have been warned; beware…_

The plaque that had so intrigued him on his first visit now made him realize why he was being sent here. If he was secure in his vault, getting him out would be the same as retrieving a treasure that was never "theirs." It did leave, however, the question of what to do if Severus took awhile to get him the all-clear message.

"I need to access my vault immediately," he muttered the goblin in front of him.

"Key?" Harry slid it towards the goblin, trying not to look agitated. It was one of his greatest weaknesses when trying to remain anonymous, and it was a dead giveaway.

"Very well." And they were through the large double doors leading to the carts. Harry steeled himself for the bumpy ride ahead.

* * *

With five minutes until the attack, Severus had no option but to hope Potter had followed his instructions to the letter without trouble. Of course the response had said he understood, but somehow, the child always managed to get sidetracked.

"Severus." Draco's voice drew him from preparation. The group was looking malicious—Yaxley, Rudolphus Lestrange, and many others were figuratively rubbing their hands in anticipation and Severus found he was probably the only one dreading the attack (with the exception of Draco.

Indeed, for the amount of concern hidden beneath the surface, Draco was doing an excellent job of seemingly being prepared for this mission. He stood tall and proud, black robes donned and wand at the ready. He did not look like he would enjoy it, but he did not seem resigned as Severus knew he must be. He didn't look worried, though his thoughts were sure to be a whirlwind of concern for one Gryffindor.

"I must say something," Severus muttered. "Comrades!" There was still some rustling and shuffling, but the majority had quieted down. "Remember our aim! We aim to subdue the public with fear! Restrain your killing, magnify your torture! For we cannot be feared if all who would dare oppose us our dead!" He felt Draco tense beside him and cursed Fate for dealing him this hand.

His godson knew he had no choice but to play the part, had to know every word Severus spoke was like a torturous curse to his own mind. But he did it to save them. So he played his part.

"To the Dark Lord!" And Merlin did he have to force himself to think of Draco and Narcissa and Albus when he heard resounding cheers echoed back at him. It was time to unwillingly lead a very willing army.

* * *

"Mister Potter, what is so urgent that you must access your vault so late at night?" The goblin, Gornuk, had been silent the entire way, leaving Harry to his own thoughts. Knowing that, above ground, wizards and witches that were depending on him would be tortured as he followed orders was hard. Actually, it was more than hard…he was sorely tempted to demand Gornuk turn the cart around so he could go fight.

"It's the only way to buy enough time to save them," he muttered. The goblin gave no indication that he had heard Harry's response, but turned the key, allowing Harry into the vault.

"Gornuk, I need you to lock me in," he demanded. "And if you want to avoid Death Eaters and torture, you may want to lock yourself in as well." The goblin looked at him in bemusement, one eyebrow raised.

"Mister Potter, you seem to have lost your mind." As much as he agreed with the goblin, Harry knew that, at least here, he was right.

"Perhaps, but I also know you don't want to go back up there." He implored the goblin to stay behind, hoping to at least save one life. Gornuk, for his part, seemed to realize how serious Harry was.

"_Tempus."_ The time flashed 9:59. He quickly conjured a Patronus. "_Get below ground; Death Eaters are coming."_ All three creatures took to different directions to warn everybody they could, but Harry had stepped inside his vault with an eye raised in question to Gornuk.

"I suppose we do have matters that need attending to," Gornuk responded with a smirk, touching the door with one long, bony finger. The door swung shut and Gornuk handed Harry the key before snapping his fingers.

A long piece of parchment with a floating box appeared mid-air.

"Mister Potter, have you ever experienced a Wizarding Will Reading?"

* * *

Draco and the others were at the apparating point in Diagon Alley at precisely ten. Runcorn and his group were to infiltrate the Ministry and be finished within the next ten minutes. Their group was to provide the distraction meant to keep opposition to Runcorn's group busy.

Lestrange sent the first curse, an Imperio at a couple strolling down the street. Moments later, the couple was lashing out, sending curses at one another. The screams drew people from the shops that were still open. Some people poked their heads out of their windows in the Leaky Cauldron.

And then hell broke loose.

An alarm sounded from the Ministry, indicating that they were well-aware of the infiltration. Security was unsure where to go. Many of them had poured from the pristine white building, expecting to help the people in the streets, but now they were faced with an option; secure Diagon Alley, or help their comrades inside.

The Death Eaters didn't give them the option, tossing curses at anything that moved. Severus sent a few curses himself, minimal in his mind, but still torturous enough to avoid raised suspicion. His "comrades" were far too concerned with their own pleasure, a fact Draco was happy about. It meant he and Severus could hang back. Though they could not help their fellow wizards, they could avoid further torture.

And there was something else they had to do.

"Draco, hold still." Severus waved his wand over his godson, modifying minor things about his appearance. His bottle blonde hair turned dark and his striking gray-blue eyes shifted to brown. "Ask Tom for Jacob Miller. Hurry!" It took only a moment to realize Jacob Miller was Harry, and then Draco was sprinting for the Leaky Cauldron before any Death Eaters could find him.

He was confronted by the innkeeper, who had his wand drawn, prepared to fire a curse at Draco.

"Please…" He was panting. "Please, I'm looking for Jacob Miller." He did his best to sound desperate out of fear, concerned about a friend. He didn't want to sound anxious over a lover.

"Miller? He left here twenty minutes ago. Now who are you?" Twenty minutes; more than enough time to get into his vault at Gringotts'. Harry was safe.

"Never mind. Thank you." He ducked back out, hiding in an alleyway before turning his features back to normal and replacing the grotesque mask over his face. Moments later, Yaxley and a group of two others came sauntering in, attacking the residents that were drinking downstairs.

Draco was comforted by the fact that Harry was not in danger.

* * *

"A Wizard Will Reading?" Harry had never been to a will-reading in his life…period. Besides, there were only two people in the world that had died that could have left him anything he would not know about—Sirius and Albus—and Albus certainly had left him more than enough. The wand in his pocket was testament enough to that.

"Yes, Mister Potter."

"Harry." Mister Potter reminded him of Hogwarts and professors and…nothing pleasant. Gornuk, however, eyed him speculatively. Of course, it was not proper for goblins to call customers by anything but their last names, but Harry was anything but proper. He also had to believe that the reading of a will was not supposed to happen in a sealed vault whilst trouble brewed overhead.

"Very well. Have you?"

"I've never been to a reading of any kind, actually."

"Then this will be an experience for the both of us, as I've never read three wills simultaneously to the same person."

"Three?" As he spoke, the parchment split into three different rolls. The first floated down into Gornuk's hands.

"Ahem…'The Last Will and Testaments of James Richard Potter and Lily Eleyon Evans Potter.'" Harry started; he had never heard his parents' middle names before. Gornuk ignored his reaction and continued. "'To be read to their son Harry James Potter when he has come of age in the Wizarding World. First, in addition to access to his school fund account, Harry Potter will have access to the Potter Family Vault, which totals 1.2 million galleons with the advice that earning one's own money is more rewarding than having it handed to you.'"

He suppressed a laugh; the Potters—he was told by Hermione after she read up on his family tree—had a long line of wealthy and well-connected ancestors. They hadn't exactly married paupers in early times either, back when marrying for love was considering idiotic and foolhardy. Then again, Harry had to believe some of his ancestors were as reckless and foolhardy as he had been told he was.

But they were Gryffindors, through and through. Lounging about on a bed of gold provided by someone else didn't exactly sit well with Harry, and he imagined it hadn't sat well with his parents either. It was about adding, so that it would always be there, growing, should something happen.

"Second," Gornuk read on, "are the two Potter homes. One is the home in Godric's Hollow, which was purchased by James and Lily Potter as their family home. Should Mister and Missus Potter change their residence at any time, this Will shall update itself with the location of the new family home. The second is Potter Manor, which has been placed under a Fidelius Charm. The location can only be divulged by Mister and Missus Potter or their Secret Keeper, Remus Lupin."

Lupin. Not Albus. Not Sirius. Certainly not Pettigrew. Why had they not entrusted their home in Godric's Hollow to the same person? They could all be a happy family still, Sirius and his parents alive and well.

"Third, and lastly, James and Lily Potter bequeath to their son the three heirlooms of the Potter family. The Cloak, which shall be given by Albus Dumbledore at his discretion. This request was added by Lily Potter, to ensure you did not cause trouble earlier than the Headmaster could handle you," Gornuk added as a side note, pointing to the asterisk with this information. This time, Harry could not contain his laughter.

"The second is the Potter family ring, which you seem to have also received already." Harry looked at his hand to see the three words still glowing dully. He flexed his hand minutely before glancing back to the Will. "And the third is the Dagger." And, for the first time, Harry remembered there was also a box floating over their heads.

A small, black case flew from the box and landed in Gornuk's hands. He withdrew a silver dagger, glinting dangerously as it emerged. It bore a striking similarity to one sword of Godric Gryffindor, with a blooded ruby embedded in the hilt and the same motto on the blade in small, script letters as was on his ring.

"Mister Potter…" Harry met his eyes. "…Harry. You must understand something about this dagger, as it is one of a kind…beyond the fact that it has been in your family since before it can even be traced.

"Goblins consider everything they make to be theirs. If they sell it, it is considered a rental, and to pass it down is considered stealing in our culture. To us, only the first wizard or witch to buy it has the right to own the object. After that, we feel it should be returned.

"However," he continued, raising a bony hand to halt Harry's objections, "this Dagger is one of a kind, as I said. It was made of Goblin silver, wrought by a goblin, but it was created by a goblin _and_ a wizard, your ancestor. It was imbibed with a drop of your ancestor's blood in the ruby, and every wizard that has possessed it since has added their blood to the mix."

"Never will this Dagger be taken from you, Harry, unlike many objects that have been…retrieved by Goblins." As he said this, he passed the Dagger to Harry, who stared at it reverently. His ancestors had held this Dagger, wielded it, and passed it on to their sons, and now, it had made its way to him.

"Do you know a great deal about Goblin silver, Harry?" The Gryffindor shook his head; without Hermione, he was at a great loss on many things magical. "It cannot break. It cannot tarnish. It will take in only that which makes it stronger, much like the Sword of Gryffindor." This title was said with a nasty lilt, which made Harry look up. "The Sword is not like the Dagger, Harry. We Goblins believe it should be returned to us, in honesty." He shrugged. "Nothing personal."

Harry returned his attention to the Dagger, staring at the ruby. Then, in a quick motion, he pricked his index finger with the tip and dropped a bit of blood onto the gem, watching as it soaked in. The ruby glowed a deeper red than before, settling back into its usual color after a few moments. There was silence, until Gornuk cleared his throat and rolled the parchment.

"That is all from that particular Will." Snapping his fingers, he created another copy, sending one towards Harry while the other disappeared. "We keep one for our records. Now, for the one of Sirius Orion Black." The dagger almost dropped from Harry's fingers.

"Unfortunately," Gornuk began, replacing his tiny glasses and grabbing at the second Will, "Mister Black was disowned from his family, so he does not truly own much as far as heirlooms go. Most of them were handed to Narcissa Black Malfoy, as she is the oldest of the Black sisters, and Regulus Arcturus Black is dead." Regulus…Sirius' brother. Regulus Arcturus Black…RAB…wait….

"Stop, what was his name?"

"Sirius Orion…"

"No, Sirius' brother!" Harry was nearly shouting, getting frantic.

"Regulus Arcturus Black, but it is not his Will we are reading."

"But he had something I need," Harry muttered. He had stolen the locket, retrieved it before he and Albus had even known of its existence. Gornuk was looking at him impatiently, though, and he realized he would have to think on this later. He filed the name away, suddenly pleased to remember he would be getting a copy of this Will. "Sorry, continue."

"Ahem…the Last Will and Testament of Sirius Orion Black. 'To my godson, Harry James Potter, I leave the contents of my vault, totaling 3,648 galleons, 21 sickles, and 1 knut. I also leave the one Black heirloom my wretched family could not take from me…those are the words that are written," Gornuk paused to insert his comment here before continuing. "I fear, Harry, that your hands may soon become overpowered with rings."

At these words, a ring box flew from above them to rest in Gornuk's hand.

"As Regulus," Harry shivered, "died and Sirius was the only male left to carry on the family name, disowned or not, he was the only one that could take the ring. As he died before bearing an heir, and you are his godson, accepting this ring makes you a magical member of the Black family. Your spouse and any children you have will carry on both names."

The Potter ring was gold with a ruby embedded in it, the family motto running along the inside of the band.

The Black ring, on the other hand, was pure silver, with an onyx stone that glinted back at him. Both gems sparked with magic as he brought one to rest next to the other one his finger, but he clenched his eyes shut as a bright light engulfed his hand.

When he opened them, he was wearing one ring. Upon inspection, he and Gornuk gasped as they realized the rings had combined themselves into a tangle of gold and silver patterns. The blood-red ruby that had perfectly matched the hilt of the Dagger was still embedded in the center of the ring, but on either side now sat two onyx stones, smaller in size, but equally impressive.

The Potter motto was still emblazoned on the inside of the ring, but it was followed by _'Non Omnis Moriar.'_ Not all of me will die. The Black motto.

"I don't understand…why would their motto be "Not All of Me Will Die?"" Harry observed the new line, written in the same neat script on the back of his hand.

"It is the belief that what we do in this life is not gone simply because we are. Do relax, Mister Potter—it is not an evil notion. Remember that the transformation into evil, as many Pureblood families have now made, was not there during the formation of these families. The Black family is as noble as the Potters in origin."

Observing the ring, Harry smiled, pleased. He was a Potter and a Black, and, when this nonsense was over and Voldemort was nothing but ashes, perhaps he would be a Malfoy as well.

Another roll of parchment floated over to Harry as the original copy disappeared, leaving only one roll and a hovering box.

"Now, for the third Will." Harry swallowed thickly.

* * *

It was nearing one in the morning when Severus felt the burn on his forearm. Their reception, the Potions Master knew, would not be pleasant; he felt the intense anger behind the calling. Of course, from the moment Voldemort had made clear his intent to capture Potter at the wedding, he knew they were doomed. After all, Potter was not at the wedding.

He was in a vault, deep below their feet.

"Severus." Draco's voice gained his attention, and he saw the boy standing in the shadows, grasping his forearm. The man only nodded, putting his hand on Draco's shoulder and turning on the spot to leave them yards away from the gate at the Manor's apparation point. "He's not pleased, is he?"

"No, Draco, I fear he will take his anger out on all of us this time. Remain strong; I have potions back at the house to help with anything he may do."

"Anything he may…?" The unanswered question hung between them and he saw Draco shudder, but then they both braced themselves and turned to walk into the belly of the beast.

"So…Potter was not at the wedding?" Voldemort's tone was even, but beneath it, everyone could tell he was simply restraining himself from the _fun_ that was to come.

"My Lord," Bellatrix spoke up, disregarding propriety's demand for her silence, eager to prove herself to her Master. "The wedding was deserted! Everything had been sat up, but it was as though it was completely abandoned!"

"Silence!" She jumped back into her seat, skittish, but still with that same sadistic smile on her face that made everyone who was unfortunate enough to meet her cringe in fear. "This is unacceptable!" He grabbed for Severus' left arm, which was right within reach, and dug the tip of his wand into it.

The effect was instantaneous.

Severus ignored his own pain, watching as his godson grasped his own mark and kept the tears from streaming down his face. Lucius had done at least one thing for his son, making him more tolerant to pain. But Severus had to look away when Draco's eyes went wide and he gasped loudly.

Down the table, he saw Narcissa with the same look on her face as him. She did not have a Mark, as she was not exactly a follower, but watching her son in pain probably did as much pain as Voldemort. He willed her to look at him and, when she did, he gave her a small nod.

_It will be over soon_. They could only hope.

* * *

"The Last Will and Testament of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. Dumbledore left items to you and your two friends, Ms. Hermione Jean Granger and Mr. Ronald Bilius Weasley. I can only give you the items that he left to you, although there are some odd stipulations. 'To Harry James Potter, I leave the Snitch he caught in his first Quidditch match at Hogwarts, as a reminder of the rewards of perseverance and skill.'" The small, golden orb fell from the box and into Gornuk's hand, which he passed to Harry.

Dumbledore. Dumbledore had passed this onto him, but why? He turned the Snitch over in his hand, examining it for a clue but finding none. Then he saw Gornuk staring at it. He asked if the goblin was alright.

"Snitches are created with flash memories, Mister Potter. The Seeker to catch them is the first person to ever touch them—they are crafted using gloves and protective gear. It is not often that the Snitch is ever returned to its original owner; when it is, it is sometimes an interesting thing to witness."

"Interesting how?"

"Things can be hidden inside," Gornuk continued, still glancing at the Snitch. Harry raised the small orb to eyelevel, inspecting it further before asking him another question.

"Gornuk, what if I almost swallowed it when I caught it?" The goblin's eyes widened comically and, if Harry was honest, he saw the banker's lips tilt in an imitation of a smile. His raised eyebrow was Harry's answer, though, and he raised the Snitch, pressing it to his lips.

If he was waiting for something amazing to happen, he and Gornuk were both sorely disappointed. The unoffending object sat there, looking innocent in Harry's hand…and then, small gold words engraved themselves on the surface of the gold. _I open at the close._

"I don't suppose you know what that would mean?" Harry looked in dejection at the goblin when he realized, once again, Dumbledore had given him a puzzle piece with no clue to the whole puzzle.

"Mister…Harry…everyone who has paid attention to the last seven years knows that if anyone knows Dumbledore as a person, it would be you. Especially if your eulogy was anything to go by. It was in the Daily Prophet," the goblin answered, seeing is confused glance.

Harry flopped onto his back, staring at the magically illuminated ceiling, hoping for a clue. Even as he closed his eyes, wishing he could wake up from a dream, he knew he would receive no help.

He wasn't going to wake up in his dorm, throwing a pillow at Ron for snoring. Dumbledore wouldn't be sitting behind his desk and the locket in his rucksack wasn't the real deal. Voldemort was still out there, making Severus and Draco continue acting as spies, and Harry still had to stop them.

"Harry, there was one more stipulation to the Will that it would be most logical to fulfill now."

"Stipulation?"

"One of your friends, Hermione Jean Granger, is to receive a book. It is a copy of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_; Dumbledore's personal copy. However," and here, the book flew out of the box as the other objects had, "you are to read one of the stories before she receives it."

"Stories?"

"They are meaningless bedtime stories told to children of the wand bearers." Wand bearers; not wizards. Only now was Harry beginning to notice the slight contempt the goblin had in his tone whenever wizards were mentioned. Only Dumbledore's name had been mentioned without any disdain…and his own.

"Which story am I to read?" Harry held his hand out for the book, looking in curiosity at the cover. It was certainly a book about magic, for nowhere else would one find the odd illustrations on the cover. A cauldron with a single foot underneath hopped to and fro around the cover while an ax continued hacking at what appeared to be a stump of a tree. In the corner, an ornate fountain spewed water, though it did little else. Above it, a grotesquely hairy heart seemed to throb.

But Harry was most interested in those, as interesting as they were. In the upper left hand corner, there were three hands, each holding something. The first held a wand that looked…familiar. A brilliant pinprick of light seemed to emanate from the illustrated stick, making it difficult to look directly at it.

The next hand held a black stone that was being turned over repeatedly. It looked to be nothing more than a stone.

The third held nothing. Upon closer inspection, it held the wind, though Harry knew that was nonsense. It would shimmer in and out of focus, from silver to clear, swiftly moving continuously through the hand. Then his eyes widened when it focused for a brief moment—an Invisibility Cloak!

"The Tale of the Three Brothers." Gornuk reached a hand out and tapped the illustration Harry had been staring at. "It is the last story in the volume." And so, with little other preamble, Harry opened the book and set to begin reading. Before uttering a word, though, he stopped.

"Should…should I read it aloud?" Gornuk shrugged. "Well, maybe you can help me understand why Albus would ask me to read a children's story."

"Begin, then." And Harry read.

_ "There were once three brothers who were traveling along a lonely, winding road at twilight. In time, the brothers reached a river too deep to wade through and too dangerous to swim across.. However, these brothers were learned in the magical arts, and so they simply waved their wands and made a bridge appear across the treacherous water. They were halfway across it when they found their path blocked by a hooded figure._

_ And Death spoke to them. He was angry that he had been cheated out of three new victims, for travelers usually drowned in the river. But Death was cunning. He pretended to congratulate the three brothers upon their magic and said that each had earned a prize for having been clever enough to evade him._

_ So the oldest brother, who was a combative man, asked for a wand more powerful than any in existence: a wand that must always win duels for its owner, a wand worthy of a wizard who had conquered Death! So Death crossed to an elder tree on the banks of the river, fashioned a wand from a branch that hung there, and gave it to the oldest brother._

_ Then the second brother, who was an arrogant man, decided that he wanted to humiliate Death still further, and asked for the power to recall others from Death. So Death picked up a stone from the riverbank and gave it to the second brother, and told him that the stone would have the power to bring back the dead._

_ And then Death asked the third and youngest brother what he would like. The youngest brother was the humblest and also the wisest of the brothers, and he did not trust Death. So he asked for something that would enable him to go forth from that place without being followed by Death. And death, most unwillingly, handed over his own Cloak of Invisibility._

_ Then Death stood aside and allowed the three brothers to continue on their way, and they did so, talking with wonder of the adventure they had had, and admiring Death's gifts. In due course the brothers separated, each for his own destination._

_ The first brother traveled on for a week or more, and reaching a distant village, sought out a fellow wizard with whom he had a quarrel. Naturally with the Elder Wand as his weapon, he could not fail to win the duel that followed. Leaving his enemy dead upon the floor, the oldest brother proceeded to an inn, where he boasted loudly of the powerful wand he had snatched from Death himself, and of how it made him invincible._

_ That very night, another wizard crept upon the oldest brother as he lay, wine-sodden, upon his bed. The thief took the wand and, for good measure, slit the oldest brother's throat._

_ And so Death took the first brother for his own._

_ Meanwhile, the second brother journeyed to his own home, where he lived alone. Here he took out the stone that had the power to recall the dead, and turned it thrice in his hand. To his amazement and his delight, the figure of the girl he had once hoped to marry, before her untimely death, appeared at once before him._

_ Yet she was sad and cold, separated from him as by a veil. Though she had returned to the mortal world, she did not truly belong there and suffered. Finally the second brother, driven mad with hopeless longing, killed himself so as truly to join her._

_ And so Death took the second brother for his own._

_ But though Death searched for the third brother for many years, he was never able to find him. It was only when he had attained a great age that the youngest brother finally took off the Cloak of Invisibility and gave it to his son. And then he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, and, equals, they departed this life."_

* * *

Bloody hell, that wizard was more sadistic than he had thought it was possible to be.

Still in his good graces, Severus and Draco had received the least of his fury. Unfortunately, Narcissa's lack of a Mark had not escaped Voldemort's notice, and he had targeted her for more than one Cruciatus Curse. It had taken everything in Draco to not attack the madman. His mother was, after all, the only reason he remained here. Narcissa and Harry.

If Draco thought his fury was something, though, he knew his godfather was ready to burst at the seams.

He was no idiot, dunderhead, or whatever else Severus may have called him. And as closed off as Severus was to the world, he knew his godfather better than anyone. After all, everyone knows Patronus' are incredibly personal beings and to have more than one means a deep personal connection. For instance, the fact that Severus and Lily Evans/Potter had been best friends in Hogwarts attributed to the doe.

After the incident at the Ministry in the Department of Mysteries—of course, Severus hadn't been able to keep that a secret from Draco since he was present at the confrontation between Umbridge and her Inquisitorial Squad, Severus, and Harry's group of vigilantes—Draco had learned everything. He had learned about the Prophecy, or the part Severus knew. Only Voldemort, Dumbledore, and Harry knew the whole thing.

But Severus had known the part that had gotten the Potters killed, and it had driven him to the bottle more than once. When you have Hangover Potion stocked and the ability to make another batch almost instantly with perfect skill, drinking isn't such a problem.

So maybe the doe was there because Lily had been a wonderful friend. Maybe it was because he felt guilt over her death.

But there was a Narcissus wrapped around the doe's neck; Draco had never seen such a vibrant shade of red as when he asked his godfather why his Patronus would have such a girly flower.

So, yeah…Draco knew his reasons for fighting this war were Harry and his mother. And he knew Severus' reasons were him and Narcissa.

"Severus, are you alright?" The dark-haired, pale-skinned man scoffed, putting a kettle of water over the fire for tea. He had found it to be one of the best relaxants after a night of being tortured through the Mark and the Cruciatus.

"One day, Draco…we will be free of this nonsense." The blonde did not have to be a Legilimens to know who he meant by _we_.

* * *

"_Tempus_." The time flashed "2:36" and Harry blinked, realizing his eyelids were getting heavier. "I'm really hoping they didn't forget," he muttered, wiping one hand across his eyes. "Gornuk, do I look like myself?" It was a stupid question, but he hoped the goblin understood.

"Your muggle concealer is coming off; your scar is visible again." Harry dug around in his bag for the compact and set to work covering it up, checking the coloring of his hair and ensuring that he was still disguised well enough to slip past the general security.

"If you would like to visit your other vaults, you would be equally safe traveling the underground of Gringotts' as if you were locked in your own vault. You cannot travel to any vaults but your own." Gornuk was holding out two keys, both the same gold as his own. '711' and '936' glinted back at him. "711 is Sirius Black's; 936 is the Potter vault."

"Isn't there more security the further down one goes." Gornuk nodded.

"I have heard it rumored that the Malfoys are on the same level as the Potters and the Blacks; Ms. Narcissa Black Malfoy has inherited the contents of that vault, though she immediately signed it in secrecy to Mr. Severus Snape so that her husband could not get a hold of it. It is to be passed onto their son, Draco Lucius Malfoy." Harry's head reeled for a moment.

"Are you supposed to be telling me this? Isn't there some sort of banker confidentiality code?" For certain, no Muggle banker would ever tell him of the accounts of people he had supposedly never heard of. After all, Gornuk could not possibly know that he and Draco were technically in a secret relationship, right?

"The Head of every family is entitled by Pureblood Law to know the actions of the others in his family as pertaining to monetary and medical, to name only a few. You are the head of the Potter and Black families now, as you wear the combined ring of the two families." And there it was; the nauseous feeling he had begun having finally crept up, threatening to provide a very messy cleanup job later.

"So Draco Malfoy and I are family now?"

"In magic only; not in blood."

"So if Malfoy were to have a child and I were to have a child, would it be…"

"Because there is no blood relation, it would not be considered incestuous for them to be together." Harry was surprised by the bluntness with which the goblin delivered this statement, but even more, he was relieved by the actual words. He would have hated for one moment of ignorance about the Wizarding World and its customs to destroy any chance of a relationship between him and Draco.

"Gornuk, how many levels are there in Gringotts'?"

"Thirteen." The Potter, Malfoy, and Black family vaults only qualified for level 9 security? "The Dragons protect level ten and further down."

"What kind of clients qualify for level thirteen protection? No names, obviously," Harry backtracked quickly, "but it can't be a very high amount of customers, right?"

"It is…costly, yes," Gornuk confirmed. "You have a vault there, Mister…Harry. Sir, I really must protest." They stopped before vault 711, where Gornuk turned to give Harry an exasperated look. "I cannot call a client by their first name. May we compromise and I shall call you Mister Harry or Harry Potter?"

"I have a house elf friend who calls me Harry Potter, so I suppose that would be alright." Harry was starting to realize that it was abnormal for wizards to allow anyone they deemed inferior to be so familiar with them. Was it offensive for him to ask them to call him anything else? It just made him so damned uncomfortable.

"Very well, Harry Potter. We are at your godfather's vault." He slid the key in as Harry formed yet another question.

"Gornuk, you said I have a vault on lowest level?"

"Vault 1354, if you can locate the key. It was Albus Dumbledore's vault, left to you in his will, provided you found the key yourself." Gornuk turned the key and ran his finger down the length of the vault as Griphook had done the first time he had been at the Wizarding Bank.

Harry's eyes snapped open and he turned to look at the vault only two spots over.

713.

"Gornuk, who technically owns vault 713?"

"Hogwarts. It is to be the Headmaster or Headmistress' personal vault, though the contents are turned over to the successor."

"So if the Sorcerer's Stone or Sword of Gryffindor were in the vault, but the Headmaster died, the next one would get it, even if it was left in a Will?"

"Think of it as leaving an object that belongs to you in a house you moved out of," he explained, pushing the door open. "Once the new tenants move in, any objects left in there do not rightfully belong to you." But Harry had stopped listening. Gornuk had only told him of the…monetary assets. "Ah, yes, your godfather had quite the attachment to broomsticks." Gornuk sounded amused. Harry was amazed.

Along the walls were broomsticks that looked like they dated back to James and Sirius' school days. There were Cleansweeps, Nimbus', Shooting Stars, Comets…and they lined the walls. Sirius didn't just have an attachment…he had had an obsession! It was like the Muggles that collected sports cards or Wizard children that collected Chocolate Frog cards.

No, there, in the corner…

There was one, thick album with the words _Chocolate Frog Cards_ in script. Harry had to roll his eyes at the things Sirius had considered "Gringotts Vault Worthy". Next to it were some stacks of Motorcycle Magazines, and Harry remembered the motorbike Hagrid had…the one that had brought him to Privet Drive seventeen years ago…the one Sirius had given to Hagrid the night his parents died.

"Harry Potter?" Gornuk sounded concerned, and only then did Harry realize he was quaking in laughter.

"It's just very…Sirius." Which, of course, meant very un-serious. The gold was piled in the corner, out of the way, because Sirius didn't care about his money. There was nothing family-heirloom related—the only Black heirloom he had had was on his hand already—because Sirius didn't care about his family.

"There is also this." Harry registered a snap of Gornuk's fingers before a slip of paper flew from the magazine stacks. It was a photo. He was pleased to note Peter Pettigrew's absence from the group of four. Lily was in his place.

James and Lily were in the middle, and James had his arm thrown around Sirius' shoulder, the other around Lily's waist. Remus was on her other side, and Harry noted how familial they seemed to be, like a brother and sister.

"How'd you know that was in there?" The goblin held up the will, pointing at the bottom.

"The contents of the vault are listed at the bottom of the page so that wizards or witches receiving the entire contents of a vault know what they are receiving." Instead of responding, he took a walk around the room, looking at all the broomsticks hovering against the walls. It was like walking through a museum, and he was so enamored that he didn't realize he had already toured the room three times.

"Harry Potter, you do have one more vault to inspect if you'd like." Vault 936. Gornuk dropped the key for vault 711 into Harry's hands before retaking his seat in the traveling cart. Sighing, Harry climbed back into the small box, bracing himself. It had been far too long of a night already.

* * *

Draco put his teeth together and restrained himself from crying out. The initial curse had not been all that bad, but the aftereffects were absolute hell. Tremors wracked his body, unfamiliar to the amount of power Voldemort had put through the curse. Lucius' punishment had nothing on Voldemort—obviously.

Severus had given him a lime green potion that had a slight glow to it, and he was honestly not comfortable drinking it. He trusted his godfather without a doubt, but one thing the man had always taught him was to be cautious when drinking a potion you did not make yourself. Especially when it left your sight.

So even though Severus had assured him it was a muscle relaxant potion he had personally altered to help with the tremors left by a Cruciatus Curse that even he used after particularly nasty meetings, he was reluctant to take it.

"Draco, drink that damned potion before your muscle spasms cause you to smack something…or yourself." Severus was moving about the kitchen, working on making another batch of the potion in the kitchen so he could keep an eye on his godson. "Or I may have to smack you myself!"

"Severus?"

"What?" His godfather sounded incredibly exasperated and it almost made him smile. Scratch that; it did make him smile.

"Did you ever tell Harry it was safe…safer…to leave Gringotts?" There was silence for a long while, before…

"Bloody hell!"

* * *

"Harry Potter, I believe that creature is here for you." They had arrived outside the vault—Harry was both glad and disappointed to note the absence of any Dragons guarding the vault—and Gornuk was about to place the key in when he noticed the luminescent doe bounding towards them from the ceiling. It was the second time in the last few hours Harry had seen the Patronus, and he knew what it was coming to say before the mouth even opened.

_The raid is over, but there are still Death Eaters in the Alley. Stay low; keep your cloak on at all times. Reply_.

"Understood," he replied, watching as Severus' Patronus ran back to its master. "I suppose I should be pleased they didn't forget about me," Harry muttered, watching as Gornuk slipped the key in and turned it. He continued watching, waiting for something to happen. "Do you have to do that finger thing?" Gornuk shook his head.

"This level is all family vaults," Gornuk explained, backing away. "Only a member of the family can enter the vault. If I try to enter that vault without you making physical or magical contact first, I will be sucked in like the vaults on the other levels." Harry looked at him carefully; he may have trusted the goblin thus far, but there was nothing to suggest Gornuk would not try something.

Griphook had had nothing against him, but had still found pleasure in the thought of Harry or Hagrid being sucked through 713 his first visit. The goblin had even seemed to find amusement in someone getting trapped and waiting for help that would never come. Like house elves many times enjoyed serving masters and being mistreated, perhaps goblins found humor in tricking humans.

But Harry slid his index finger in a straight line down the vault and listened as the gears inside clicked open. He did, admittedly, sigh in relief when he didn't find himself sucked to the other side of the wall. That relief was immediately forgotten when he saw the inside of the vault.

The first thing he registered was it was deep. It was deeper than both of his other vaults, and the entire left half was filled with galleons. It actually made his eyes physically hurt to look at it, and, at that moment, he was filled with indescribable guilt.

How was it that he was completely swamped, swimming in gold, when families like the Weasleys were trying to keep their heads above water? And of course they would never accept help from him, he realized with a scowl. How could it be fair that he didn't need it but certainly had it?

"Gornuk, didn't my parents have their own vault?" The goblin broke from his reverie; he too had been entranced by the enormous piles. "I mean, if they were such big believers in making their own money, they wouldn't keep their gold in with the family gold, would they? They'd want to know they were spending their money." Actually, that's what he would do. Or he had keep an enormous tally of how much gold was his; even if it was family gold, he had feel weird about spending someone else's money.

"When they died, their vaults were added to this one and theirs was vacated and made available to another client," Gornuk replied. "It's supposed to make it easier for individuals like yourself who inherit three or four vaults."

The piles started making him uncomfortable, reminding him yet again why he was different from other people, so he turned to look at what was left; it wasn't much. There was essentially a large quantity of pottery, jewelry, and empty painting frames. Their inhabitants had most likely gotten irritated with seeing the vault or the back of the painting covering them and gone in search of other frames.

"I can only assume most of your family items are in the Manor," Gornuk commented. He seemed content to let Harry explore his vaults on his own, keeping out of the way as Harry made his way through the vault. "Many families put their favorite items in their Manors and keep the valuables or unsightly oddities in their family vaults."

"Unsightly oddities?" Another snap brought a giant wooden mask adorned with feathers and jewels to rest in front of Harry's face, and he could not help but to laugh. It truly was one of the most hideous things he had ever seen in his life, but on the side was carved "Potter 1205" and he realized why he could never get rid of the damn thing. It had been in his family for 792 years.

It had been in his family.

"Harry Potter, you seem very prone to emotional outbursts right now. Is it because we are investigating personal vaults or because it is 4:25 in the morning and you are feeling sleep deprived?" Wiping his eyes of the barely shed tears, Harry managed a small laugh.

"Gornuk, I suppose it's a little bit of both." But to know something had been in HIS family…not the Dursleys, who were never really his family to begin with. Not even the Evans, whom he'd never known outside of Petunia. It was his family.

He was a Potter and there were items in this vault—other than the gold—dating back to his family's creation as a Pureblood family, not that blood status mattered all that much to him. He was a half-blood, after all. But he could say his family had heirlooms. Maybe ugly ones, he considered, looking at the mask again, but his family still had heirlooms.

The Dagger on his hip and the ring on his finger attested to that.

"Gornuk, I think it's about time we went aboveground again, don't you?"

"That would be excellent, Harry Potter."

* * *

**A/N:** Vampirealchemist: It's one in the morning and the authoress is not in the mood for drabbles today.

Gornuk: I would like to thank the authoress for giving me such an amazing role in this wonderful story. J.K. Rowling did not even give me such a wonderful role!

Vampirealchemist: J.K. Rowling also owns EVERYTHING about this except my plot and the Dagger, pretty much. Not gonna lie; I want one like that.

Gornuk: I shall acquire one for you!

Vampirealchemist: I'd be happier with some reviews from some loyal readers that probably hate me for taking over a year and a half to freakin' update.

Gornuk: I shall endeavor to do my best. Please Review kind readers!

_**Next Chapter:**_ Of Vacations & Visitations


	5. Of Vacations & Visitations

Here's the next chapter. I don't own anything. **_PLEASE REVIEW!_**

* * *

With his Inheritance securely in his expanding rucksack, Harry followed Gornuk back into the cart. His mind was still turning at the news from the Will—receiving everything from Sirius, the lack of information surrounding Dumbledore's—and now, he was Head of two families. The ring felt heavy on his finger and he rubbed it absentmindedly.

Vaults passed by quickly and he barely managed to make out numbers…933…842…713…and finally to the first level. There was minimal security on this floor, Harry realized as he stepped out of the cart, but it was also probably impossible to break into.

_Thief, you have been warned, beware…_

"Harry Potter, it has been an honor spending the last few hours with you," Gornuk broke the silence, following Harry through the large double doors and securing them. The atrium of the bank looked far different than when they stepped through it only a few hours ago, but neither Goblin nor Wizard noticed. "You are truly different than most Wizards or Witches of any age."

"You don't know the half of it," he said, giving an oddly tilted smile in the banker's direction. "But thank you for your help, Gornuk."

"Harry Potter, I hope the future will allow for us to meet again…perhaps in better circumstances?" He gestured to the disheveled furnishings on the atrium that had clearly seen Death Eaters recently—perhaps only moments before.

"Perhaps." He clasped the hand Gornuk had proffered and gave it a firm shake before striding purposefully towards the door. It was clearly time for a change of location.

* * *

"That was bloody close!" A certain redhead had yet to stop pacing back and forth across the floor. Surrounded by family in their impromptu-enlarged honeymoon house was not precisely how Bill and Fleur planned on spending their first few minutes as man and wife, but it was better than being at the reception when the Death Eaters attacked. They had one stag Patronus to thank for that, or, rather, the boy who cast it.

"Ronald, if you don't stop, you'll wear a hole in the floor." Hermione was growing significantly more irritated as time passed, finally giving up on her boyfriend stopping of his own accord. Ginny was tracing her wand in meaningless patterns, ignoring the couple, but unable to be anywhere else in the house. Arthur and Molly were clearly distressed at the wedding going awry.

"Hermione, did you happen to miss the part where we were almost demolished by Death Eaters?" That he had used the word 'demolished' rather surprised Hermione, but she didn't comment. "My brother's wedding was interrupted by Death Eaters, and we only managed to escape because our best friend—who, by the way, is off doing who knows what—managed to find out about the damn attack and warn us!"

He had been ranting like this since they arrived at the Honeymoon Hut two hours prior. The floating 'Tempus' charm was rounding out to midnight and Hermione was, quite frankly, starting to get tired.

She had a pack prepared with a pair of Ron and her clothes along with some books and potion ingredients that would be necessary in a pinch. There was also a tent, plenty of money, and other assorted items needed when one (or three) was on the run. Unfortunately, she and Ron were not fully informed on the circumstances of Harry's mission or disappearance, so they were stuck waiting.

Or, in Ron's case, ranting.

"Why wouldn't he ask us for help?" Perhaps if he had some new topics, Hermione wouldn't be so irritated, but he'd been oscillating between why Harry left and the demolition of the wedding reception for two hours with no new topics in between and she was starting to feel like she was listening to a skipping record.

"Ronald!" She stood, exasperated. "We are going to have to accept that whatever Harry is doing, it is necessary for him to do it alone. Even if it weren't, there is no way for us to contact him or go with him, so we will have to do what we can for him while we attend Hogwarts for our seventh year." It was a good few lines—it got Ron to shut up anyways—but even she didn't believe it.

Harry was notorious for many things. Killing the Dark Lord at fifteen months and facing him four times since of course being one. He was also, however, infamous among friends and enemies alike for sacrificing himself for his friends and makeshift family. If he believed he could save Ron and Hermione by attempting his mission alone, he would do so, their opinion be damned.

He was also a quick study when the situation called for it, meaning he was well aware the duo would have followed him regardless of his wishes. By never meeting up with them, he was able to avoid that issue altogether, she realized.

It hurt her to know Harry didn't want their help, regardless of the fact that it was simply his personality. She wanted to be angry at him, but it was his personality, and she couldn't fault him as much as she wanted to. It was part of what made him such an amazing person, despite the fact that it was, in all actuality, a serious personality flaw.

She sometimes wondered how the three of them had become such unlikely friends.

Harry, with his timidity and awkwardness when he'd first arrived, had just wanted a friend. He didn't care what they looked like, where they came from, or who they were, and his desire for that friendship made him an amazing friend in return. He protected those he loved with a ferocity Hermione had yet to see matched.

Ron, with his brashness and hotheadedness, was used to being the "Other Weasley". Already unable to be the first Quidditch Captain, Head Boy, Prefect, or Prankster in the family, he had always been left with the leftovers. Even Ginny could claim to be the only girl. Perhaps his initial reasoning had been primarily that being friends with Harry Potter made him special, but he quickly learned how to be a friend instead of a fan, as he'd been his whole life.

And Hermione, with her book smarts and obsessive compulsive nature, had just wanted to belong. She'd studied everything she possibly could to find her place in a Wizarding World that simply turned its nose up at her. It seemed, as with the Muggle World, know-it-alls weren't appreciated. But Ron and Harry had, after a very rough start, come to love her for it; it didn't hurt that her ability to remember everything had saved their lives on more than one occasion.

Six years later, they were still friends. Six years later, they were still the same children they'd been. Six years later, Hermione was still determined to know everything, Ron was still quick to overreact, and Harry was still sacrificing himself for his friends. And Hermione and Ron were left behind to worry over their friend, trying to find a way to help.

A restrained sigh drew her attention, and Hermione belatedly took notice of Ginny, still drawing meaningless patterns.

"Ginny?" The redhead looked up at her name in question, but continued moving her wand. "Are you alright?"

"I'm just worried about him," she muttered, continuing to move her wand. Hermione reached her hand out to touch the girl's shoulder lightly, but withdrew it when Ginny shrugged away. "He can't die…he can't…he can't die…" Tears were beginning to squeeze from the corner of her eyes, but she shook her head, pushing them away. "He can't…"

But they all knew very well—if Harry didn't know what he was doing…if Harry wasn't careful—he could die.

* * *

Toilets are disgusting. All the disinfectant and _Scourgify_ spells in the world can make them look whiter than fresh fallen snow, but they will still be dirty and infectious. Regardless, Draco spent most of his time after drinking the muscle relaxant with his head hovered over it.

The meeting with the Death Eaters had distracted him from what he'd been sent to do, but after taking the potion and making sure Severus told Harry he could leave the vaults, the night caught up with him. It had become necessary for him to torture a short wizard in purple robes that had been unfortunate enough to be stumbling back to the Leaky Cauldron after a night at a bar.

Spotting the man, Draco had tried to ignore him, focused more on destruction of the property than injury of the personnel, but one of his cohorts noticed the man. They…took turns…casting spells. Severus had thrown one or two when one of their fellow "Eaters" called his name.

He had done none of the Unforgiveable Curses, choosing Cutting and Burning Hexes, which none of the others seemed to notice. Severus had thrown a few of his own design that Draco did not recognize, but it did not matter. Watching that man who had merely been in the wrong place at the worst time gasp for breath with every jet of light that passed through his body was torturous for the pale blonde, and he couldn't help the sigh of relief when they walked away leaving the man alive and breathing.

Hopefully, he had not been tortured into insanity like the Longbottoms.

Severus left him alone in the bathroom, a fact he was grateful for. After all, if his stories were anything to go off of, his godfather was more than familiar with this particular ritual. It was as though he was purging the horrors and evils of the night, but it never truly left.

A knock at the door forced him to lift his head.

"Draco, if you're going to continue this, you will need to drink something; continuous purging is hazardous to your health." Hazardous…being a Death Eater is hazardous! "If you will not do it for yourself or me, think of the other brat I now have to put up with." He could, of course only mean Harry. "Of course I mean Potter, you dolt."

Draco rose on shaky legs and unlocked the door, making it only a few steps before collapsing against the wall.

"Two hours of being sick to your stomach and you're able to stand and walk? A feat in itself, I must confess," Severus drawled, handing him a glass of water. He grimaced as he drank it, tasting the bile on his tongue mix with the water, creating a taste that, altogether, made him want to spit it back. Managing to restrain himself, he finally finished the glass, handing it back to Severus.

"How did I get so lucky?" At the raised eyebrow, he continued with, "To have such a caring Godfather?"

"Twit." But Draco, a master of facial expressions (especially those associated with Severus Snape), caught the twitch of a smile as the Potions Master swept back to the basement to complete another potion or two before bed.

Draco turned his attention to writing Harry a letter.

* * *

They didn't know; how could they? Harry had barely known himself at the beginning of their sixth year, but she knew. After a year of watching him followed by years of being his friend (though not as close as Ron and Hermione), Ginny Weasley had learned a thing or two about Harry.

At first, she didn't think it was true. After all, Ron and Hermione clearly didn't know anything if they were encouraging Harry and her to be together, and they were his best friends! But then, she realized, people closest to a situation are often the last to notice anything. She was close enough to see the truth and far enough to be able to accept it—barely.

Since her first year, Ginny had entertained thoughts of being with Harry. When he saved her from Tom—Voldemort—it was simply the cherry on the ever-growing banana split sundae. The obsession waned as their friendship grew and she became content with simply being around him, taking up snogging boys in the corridors to occupy her thoughts of him. It wasn't until she was caught by Ron and Harry earlier that year when she realized precisely _why_ she had become so promiscuous…she wanted to be caught.

She had wanted word to get back to Harry, to make him jealous, and it had worked for a while. That first kiss had been amazing.

But they soon lessened, and it didn't take a genius to figure out why. After all, she had been his friend before being his girlfriend…even if only for two weeks.

Ron and Hermione didn't know they had broken up. It had been a secret to avoid problems for either of them—she didn't want to date anyone and her reputation made it hard for guys to leave her alone—and they had never gotten around to telling Harry's best friends. The Dumbledore incident only a few days later made anything else rather unimportant, quite frankly.

She wasn't sure if Harry realized it when they broke up, but she did, and she was glad. After all, it isn't very fair to be dating someone when you're head-over-heels in love with somebody else. Never mind that being in love with that somebody else means admitting to yourself that you're gay. In the Wizarding World, it isn't such a problem, but Harry had grown up with intolerant Muggles. He was probably planning to suppress it as long as possible.

She wondered if Draco Malfoy was gay; if he wasn't, Harry was going to have a damn hard time ahead of him.

But now it didn't seem to matter so much. Ron and Hermione continued to think she was worried for her boyfriend, sinking into a depression that involved tracing patterns in the air with her wand absentmindedly. Hermione didn't recognize the pattern for protection she traced over and over, Harry's name in her mind and on her lips with every repetition. And that night—and every night since Harry had disappeared—she did something she rarely did.

She prayed.

* * *

Number 12 Grimmauld Place was dark, dreary, and deserted. For Harry, that was a good thing.

Albus Dumbledore had been the Secret Keeper for the Headquarter location before his untimely death. Fidelius Charms broke when the Secret Keeper died. For Harry, this was a bad thing. It meant he had to be incredibly careful.

He pushed the door open, stepping into an unlit, dusty hall. He could feel his feet pressing into the dust, so thick it was like carpeting, and was careful not to make any sudden movements. When he took a step, though, some dust flew up and he stifled a sneeze. For a moment, he stood still, listening for any signs of life.

_"Homenum Revelio."_ Again, the house was as silent as before with only a brief echo of his spell. _"Lumos."_ Almost as soon as his wand lit up, the dust began to swirl from the ground towards the ceiling, forming …Dumbledore. Harry gaped in amazement, unable to comprehend what was happening before the dust creature flew towards him. "No, wait…I…" It was all he could get out before the dust assaulted his senses, making him choke viciously.

And then all was again silent. But for the patterns where the dust had swirled on the ground, there was nothing.

He shook himself off, casting a quick cleaning charm on his clothes and sneezing again when dust fell from his hair into his eyes and nose. Eventually, he gave up, realizing only a shower would get rid of all the dust bunnies and dust.

"_Scourgify."_ The floor looked polished, though still stained from years of grime before the Order had used it, and he measured his steps. The spell only revealed human presences, but Voldemort had been known to employ non-humans…Dementors for one.

At the couch, after another quick-cleaning spell, Harry fell, exhausted beyond belief. It was nearing five in the morning and he had spent at least four hours below ground listening to Wills being read. Mentally, he was drained beyond belief. Still, he forced himself up.

From the couch, he had an obscured view of the front door, through which any Death Eater could come traipsing any moment. He had never performed a Fidelius Charm, and he had no one but himself to play Secret Keeper even if he could perform it. Somehow, though, it seemed magic far too complex for him—especially so early in the morning when he was likely to screw something up.

He was just raising his wand, protection spells on his lips, when he heard scuffles and muttering, though he couldn't make any of the words out. With the Stunner spell on his lips and his wand at the ready, his eyes scanned the room. He moved carefully, keeping all doorways within his line of vision but avoiding putting his back to the wall.

"Master did not bring the Mudblood and the Blood Traitor, good." Harry's eyes focused on Kreacher in the doorway, his expression a cross between contentment at Ron and Hermione's absence and disappointment at Harry's presence. Clearly, he had heard noise and hoped someone—Bellatrix, perhaps—had come home at last and had been sorely dissatisfied.

"Kreacher," he mumbled in surprise. He had forgotten the elf was still a servant of the family…he had forgotten the elf altogether. At that moment, though, he did remember that Elves—or Dobby, at least—could do complex magic at will. "Kreacher, can you do the Fidelius Charm…or something similar?" The elf raised an eyebrow with a sneer in his new Master's direction.

"Why would Kreacher want to, _Master? _Kreacher can still contact Mistress Lestrange…yes, Kreacher can." The elf looked positively diabolical and Harry realized that if he didn't assert his authority over this mutinous elf, it would prove to be his undoing. He stated the only thing he could think of, remaining as calm and collected as possible so the elf would not realize how much his life depended on Kreacher's response.

"Do it and I'll free you." It was amazing how such a thing could be considered a threat, but Harry had the distinct feeling this particular elf would view it as such…and he was right. The bat like ears stood rigid before flattening back against the wrinkled head and Kreacher looked down in an effort to seem subservient. Looking Harry in the eyes would have meant he did not accept him as a Master. It was, at least, a step in the right direction.

"Who is Master wishing to be Secret Keeper?"

"Myself." Obviously. He was the only one who would be able to give away his location, meaning Kreacher would again be unable to betray him.

"Very wells. Kreacher is protecting Most Ancient and Noble House of Black from all who would enter unless given permission by Master Harry James Potter-Black." The black-haired teen raised an eyebrow at his name but let the house-elf continue to move his hands in mimics of the path a wand would take, finishing with a snap of his fingers and a flash of light.

"Will that be all, Master?" Harry's eyes softened as he realized why the elf was so edgy; the large, tennis-ball eyes kept darting to the first landing, where Mrs. Black's portrait hung. He wanted to go to his Mistress, the last of the family Kreacher had served faithfully, no doubt. If only the damn elf had been as loyal to Sirius…

"One more thing, Kreacher…" He opened his rucksack and muttered _'accio'_ before holding up the fake Horcrux for inspection, flinching when the chain hung from his fingers. Looking at it still gave him nightmares. "Last year, we were cleaning and found a locket similar to this one. I recall you taking a few things to keep; was this one of them?"

When he had heard the name of Sirius' Death Eater brother, he had flashed back to cleaning out the house what seemed like ages ago and realized why the damn thing that Dumbledore had died to get looked so familiar. It had been the primary reasoning behind returning to the house, despite how much he hated it and everything inside. He could only hope this was one of the items Kreacher had nicked from their pile of Dark artifacts.

But thoughts of where the locket was disappeared when Kreacher seemed to suddenly stop breathing right before his eyes.

* * *

Over the last few days, Severus and Draco had fallen into a comfortable pattern that was only interrupted by meetings. Both early risers, they would remove the stasis spells from the potions, checking on their respective ones before a quick breakfast. Throughout the day, they would alternate between potion making and research or homework. They would do the same after dinner until about ten, when they would make sure everything in the basement was under a stasis spell and turn in.

Occasionally, Severus would make a visit to one of the two Alleys, whether for more materials, books, or news, but Draco never left. He was fairly certain he could make his way around the house blindfolded with nothing more than his own two hands—a useful precautionary skill to have, he admitted. Still, it was incredibly boring and caused a feeling of isolation, encouraged further by the fact that he had only Severus to talk to…not that he didn't love his godfather. But there was someone he loved equally that he knew he could not see.

It was nearly quarter past eight when they realized that, tonight, Draco would be checking on the Potions alone. Severus' mark was burning.

When he Apparated to the Manor, he was unsurprised to see that he was alone. There was a hint of light left in the sky, giving the grounds an eerie feeling; even though he knew there was no one with him, it was impossible to shake the feeling of being followed or watched.

The loss of status and, therefore, wealth had led to a significant lessening in the standards of the Manor. In fact, it seemed almost uninhabited. Of course, given the order, the House Elves could easily keep the grounds, but at the command of Lucius, the Elves were only following Voldemort's wishes, which included keeping the grounds looking, well, evil.

When there were no meetings in session, the house was emptied of other Death Eaters, leaving only the Malfoys and their servants. And one Dark Lord. As much as he hated the man, he had to admit Voldemort had been clever in that respect; a house with guards is a house with something to hide.

"Severus."

"My Lord." He bowed deeply, placing his Occlumency shields over anything that would incriminate Draco or himself, and praying this was nothing catastrophic. Voldemort was not angry, but nor was he excited. He seemed…complacent, a fact that frightened Severus more than he cared to admit.

"Your performance at Diagon Alley was truly spectacular, Severus." A compliment…even the Master of Trickery could not restrain his surprise. Voldemort did not give compliments freely, if ever. "Much better than that of Bella at the Weasley hole." Severus cringed, hoping Bellatrix's failure would not result in damage to his person.

"I also received word that Draco is progressing as well?"

"Yes, my Lord." And here he saw his chance to gain Draco some time before being required to use any Unforgiveables, namely one. "Years spent with Lucius as an example has left me with the task of undoing what uselessness was imparted, but he shall be a fine Death Eater in the near future, as well as a fine Potions Master."

"Very good, Severus. I do wonder, though why you are keeping him locked up in that dungeon. I am certain he was eager to escape for the attack on the Alley." He let out a harsh laugh that made Severus inwardly cringe. Such a noise could hardly be called laughter. "I also hear that you have already heard of your new position at Hogwarts."

"It is an honor, my Lord." It was anything but.

"Think nothing of it, Severus. It seemed a fitting reward." A thin, white hand waved in Severus' direction. "Severus, I called you here for a reason far more important than Hogwarts or Malfoy. There is a traitor, Severus, amongst my Death Eaters, and you are the only one I trust to search him out discretely and effectively."

"Someone dares oppose you so blatantly, my Lord?"

"It can be the only way the Weasley wedding would have been ended so abruptly. Someone sent them a message and informed them of the raid, and it can have only been someone who was here that night before I sent them off.

"Obviously, I have more important matters to attend to than searching out the traitor, but I trust you, my right hand, to take care of this matter for me." It was not a question nor a request, Severus knew, but it was a far greater challenge than the Dark Lord could know. He had to find someone to pin this on without incriminating himself, Draco, or Narcissa.

"Yes, my Lord." Another day in the life of a spy.

* * *

Narcissa knew the exact moment he stepped through the Manor's wards.

As Head of the House, Lucius was still connected to the wards and knew when everyone arrived or left. As Mistress of the House, Narcissa knew her husband very well, and she knew his posture and expression only tightened like that when a certain Potions Master was present.

Lucius had known from the beginning of her relationship with Severus when they were at Hogwarts. He had, of course, also known of the arranged marriage and knew there was nothing the dark-haired teen could have done about it. He had taken great pleasure in knowing the boy who had fallen in love with his intended could do nothing about the marriage.

Narcissa had been forbidden from speaking of the arrangement. Mrs. Black had realized if Severus knew the marriage was arranged, he would try to break it up. She had also correctly reasoned that if he thought Narcissa broke up with him of her own accord, Severus would respect her wishes enough to leave well enough alone. Narcissa was heartbroken to discover her mother was right, but that hadn't stopped her from going out of her way to make Severus Draco's godfather.

At the time, both Lucius and Severus had been very reputable with the Dark Lord, Lucius for his work in the Ministry and Severus for his work at Hogwarts and with the Prophecy. Therefore, when Draco was born, it had only made sense for Severus to be godfather, giving the boy two ample sources of direction to make him the most fearsome Death Eater possible. Narcissa, of course, had planted the idea with a humble letter to the Dark Lord asking to make Lucius see reason in creating a powerful servant for him. With a malicious laugh, Voldemort had gladly acquiesced her request. Severus, of course, had been furious, and Narcissa could not say she didn't understand.

To be the godfather of a child that should, by all rights, be his was most likely a serious blow, but it could not be helped in Narcissa's mind. It was as close as she could get to being married to him, something she had not been able to let go of.

When Lucius stood to go to his study, she made her way to the kitchen. It was far enough away that she would not be tortured for listening in, but Severus would have to pass it if he exited the house from the Dark Lord's dungeon chamber. Crissy was returning dishes to their proper places and cleaning the floors when Narcissa walked in and took a seat at the small table. Moments later, a cup of tea was floating in front of her—cream and sugar already stirred in—and she took it gratefully. Crissy gave no indication of having done anything, but Narcissa knew.

"Narcissa." She had known the moment he walked in the room.

Being a Slytherin had its advantages. Ravenclaws were known for being book smart, but street smarts weren't in their repertoire. Hufflepuffs were fiercely loyal and stuck together, though they were known for being timid or for simply not fitting in anywhere else. After all, the other three houses all had very distinct qualities—Hufflepuff was for the rest. And, of course, there was Gryffindor…with its garish scarlet and gold color schemes, enough was said.

But Slytherins didn't have the advantage of loyalty and stupid bravery to back them up. In a house of snakes, it truly was every wizard for themselves, and bravery could get someone killed.

So they learned to observe the world around them, take in every detail and how it could affect them. They learned to not judge a book by its cover, but not to bother taking the time to read the whole thing. They learned what was necessary to stay alive.

In Narcissa's case, she learned how to read people's emotions and presence. She knew when it was appropriate to speak up in Lucius' presence and when it would result in injury to her. She learned when to help Draco and when to let him figure things out for himself to make him a man that would understand the difference between right and wrong.

She learned everything about Severus, and that included when he simply entered a room.

"Severus." She let her head raise just a fraction to see he was still only at the entrance of the kitchen. And that was all.

Neither of them said anything; Narcissa didn't even make eye contact. She couldn't.

"Narcissa." She didn't hear him move, but she realized he was closer. Still, she didn't make a move. She let him. "Narcissa." He'd dropped his voice to a whisper. If any of his students had seen him, they would have to argue it simply wasn't him. Severus Snape could not be so quiet unless he was threatening a student with detention or worse. "Narcissa."

On the third time, she lifted her head to meet his eyes and was surprised to feel a tear slide down her cheek. The warm pad of his thumb brushed it away and she almost smiled…almost.

"Severus," she replied, equally quiet. "When did life get so complicated?"

"Oh, Cissa," he breathed back, "it's always been complicated." And with that, he knelt in front of her to press a kiss to her lips.

It was like being back at Hogwarts, sitting by the lake as teenagers, throwing things at the Giant Squid. It was hard to believe it had been nearly twenty years since the day Narcissa had told Severus she was marrying Lucius and there was nothing he could do about it. Twenty years since Severus had pressed a kiss to her forehead and told her to be happy with her decisions. Twenty years since the combination of his father's and her actions had driven him into the Death Eaters waiting ranks.

Twenty years that disappeared the moment she stood up to wrap her arms around his neck.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He was leaning his forehead against hers, brushing back tears. "If I'd known it was an arranged marriage, we would have figured something out."

"I wouldn't have been able to live like that, Severus. In hiding, isolated, from my family and the only life I'd known. Besides," she muttered, drawing back, "we have Draco…it's not all for nothing." She felt the chill and drew back from Severus immediately, shoving her teacup at Severus only seconds before Lucius walked through the door.

"Hello, Severus." The chilly tone indicated it was not a pleasure for the blonde to see Severus, the Dark Lord's new right-hand, in his home. The Potions Master had understood her actions the moment he heard footfalls in the hallway. Lucius, however subtle with words, was not a silent mover. It came from years of wanting to be noticed.

"Lucius. Narcissa, thank you for the tea, but I must be going; I left Draco with some rather volatile potions. Could not be helped." No one in the room was oblivious to what had just happened, but everyone in the room had been a Slytherin at some point in their life. As such, it was simply not tactful to mention it, so they glossed over it in feigned ignorance.

"Of course. Good evening, Severus."

"And to you."

* * *

_Jacob—_

_ I heard from a mutual acquaintance of ours that you were in town. It is a shame that business keeps you away, but I suppose that cannot be helped. I do hope, however, that this letter finds you well._

_ I have spent the summer thus far working on perfecting my already impeccable Potion skills and completing the useless homework assigned over the summer. I have spent little time with anyone else as they are, like you, kept busy by previous engagements. Father and I, however, have kept busy ourselves, so it is of no import._

_ How lucky you are to have already completed school; I find that I am not looking forward to the arrival of September, though I look forward to a continuation of summer even less. I suppose it is the lesser of two evils._

_Wishing you well,  
Bryan Greene_

Draco looked over the parchment he had written his letter on, making sure there was nothing to indicate he was the sender or that Harry was the recipient. With the Death Eaters gaining control, mail was easily intercepted…in addition to some other laws that were being bent to their whims.

After the raid on Diagon Alley, it was safe to assume Harry had left the lack of safety afforded by the Leaky Cauldron and its aging barkeep. Draco wasn't sure how his godfather was going to get the letter to Harry, but he decided it didn't matter. Severus Snape was a master of the impossible.

With a flick, Draco duplicated the letter and hid it between the pages of his Charms book. If Harry had not received his letter, he would be able to prove that he'd been trying, at least, to write.

It was nearing midnight when Draco heard Severus Apparate into the kitchen. He had focused his attention on writing Harry's letter rather than worrying over his godfather. The potions were already in stasis and Draco, outwardly cool and collected, was fretting between the safety of Harry and Severus. Between the two of them, they would drive him up a wall. Of course, they probably worried over him equally, so it was all well and fair in the end.

"Draco, put the tea on." The blonde was relieved to see his godfather was stable with no evidence of a Cruciatus Curse, but the man was still paler than usual as he sank into a chair at the table. The kettle sat on the burner as Draco took the chair opposite, waiting to see if the man would open up.

He had inherited his mother's ability to feel other people. In his case, it had been mostly used for manipulation. He knew what buttons to push to irritate people or make them do his bidding. In Harry's case—back when they'd been _Potter & Malfoy_—he was nearly always successful. In Severus' case, he was still learning.

Whatever had Severus spooked, it was certainly not Voldemort. It wasn't fear in his expression…it was loss. A loss Draco recognized, though not from experience. It was the look of loss his mother wore every so often when he would catch her in a momentary lack of focus. She had worn it less and less often, but he did not miss it when she did.

"We will be going to Diagon Alley tomorrow, Draco." They were not the words he was expecting to hear, though he was not sure what he was expecting. Still, any sign of willingness to speak was excellent in Draco's opinion, so he kept silent, allowing Severus to continue. "The Dark Lord received word of many things, one of which being that I have kept you locked up here, helping me with my potions. He is of the opinion that the right hand of his right hand should be put in the public eye."

Draco nodded, knowing his mother would not approve, but knowing Voldemort's orders came before hers.

"I trust you know this out-of-characterness you have developed in the last few days of solitude here will have to be removed for the sake of maintaining public appearances?" Draco nodded; he always became less subtle and caustic when it was just Severus with him. He had still, after seventeen years, yet to determine if his biting, sarcastic personality was "really" him, or if it was an act to cover up a more "sensitive" side. He led life in his sarcastic act so much more that he wouldn't be surprised if his true self really was an arrogant prick at this point.

Perhaps Severus had the same problem?

"Severus, what happened?" Draco was almost concerned to hear the response, but his worry was put aside.

"The Dark Lord did nothing, Draco. I simply had a minor run-in with your parents." And like that, his concern was eased. His father certainly did not like Severus, and a run-in whilst in the Malfoy Manor had probably not gone well considering Lucius' current position—or lack thereof. He therefore made the tea with few other words besides a goodnight and wishes for no nightmares; both had long passed hoping for good dreams. He also left his letter for Harry on the table with Severus' promise to get it delivered.

Draco, of course, could have no way of knowing it was the encounter Severus had had with Narcissa, not Lucius, which had left him so pale.

* * *

"It is being Master Regulus' locket!"

For about a full minute, Kreacher had stopped breathing, staring transfixed at the fake Horcrux in a mixture of horror, longing, and disbelief. Harry had been unable to find anything wrong with the poor Elf, and the fact that the locket was a fake meant there was nothing evil to make the creature so horrified. Then, at the sound of his name, the elf had sprung into action, making a grab for the item before Harry lifted it away.

"Kreacher, it's not the one Regulus had!"

"It is! It is the copy that Master left in the cave where Master died!"

"Where he…Regulus died in that cave?" But Kreacher had stopped responding.

"Kreacher is bad…Kreacher was letting Master die because Master should not have been drinking…no, Kreacher should have been drinking and let Master escape…Master Regulus…" It was the closest he had ever seen an Elf to crying besides Winky, who had been an absolute round-the-bend mess after Crouch fired her. Not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed, Harry was piecing bits of the story together from Kreacher's wailing, but not enough to make any sense. He chanced asking the elf more questions.

"Kreacher, what happened in that cave?" The depression halted and Harry was fixed with a heated glare.

"No! Kreacher is not telling!" But the large eyes were still focused on the fake locket in Harry's hands.

"Was Regulus your favorite Master?"

"Kreacher is having no favorites!" Bollocks, Harry thought. Clearly, Harry was not high on the list, so there had to be those that were higher. "But Master Regulus was a true Wizard. He was treating Kreacher the way elves was supposed to be treated, but always was saying his 'pleases' and 'thanks'. He was a true Pureblood, believing Mudbloods and Half-bloods is useless, but was not liking being under other Wizard's control. That was why Master stole his Master's real locket and replaced it, but Master was dying and Kreacher was not being able to complete his last request!" And again, the elf broke into a dry sob.

"Kreacher." He waited until the house elf focused its attention on him before holding the locket out. "Kreacher, if I give you this, will you help me? I think your Master Regulus and I were…are…trying to do the same thing—destroy the Dark Lord Voldemort." Kreacher's eyes widened, but he still said nothing, apparently wary of Harry and his intentions. "You get the locket and I get information…possibly a little help. And you can have the house…after I take Sirius' things, if that's alright. I know you didn't like him very much, but he was my Godfather…" He realized he was rambling and stopped, letting the elf consider his words.

"Kreacher…Kreacher is choosing to help Master Harry and Master Harry is giving Kreacher the locket and the Black house? And Master Harry will rid the Noble House of Master Sirius' nasty Gryffindor things?" Trying not to bristle at the mention of the man this very elf had betrayed, Harry nodded.

"I'll sign the deed over to you officially after I have the information I need, and you can have the locket right away." To prove it, he tossed the item over to Kreacher who caught it, stroking the 'S' reverently. This time, when Kreacher looked at him, he seemed to be weighing his intentions before nodding.

"Master Harry is not as horrible as Kreacher is originally thinking. Kreacher thinks that, given time, Kreacher could have enjoyed working for Master Harry."

"If I don't give you clothes, are you still bound to the house? I'm assuming you don't want to be a free elf…"

"NO! Master Harry is right; no clothes." Harry nodded, waiting for Kreacher to fulfill his end of the bargain.

"Master Regulus was coming to Kreacher one night, and we was Apparating to a rock with water everywhere. Master cut his hand on a rock and there was a large cave, so we was riding the boat to the large cauldron in the middle. Master said "Kreacher, don't touch the water" and Kreacher was understanding; dark magic was in that waters." Harry was listening in rapt attention, waiting for the one bit of the story he knew he needed.

"Master was saying that Kreacher had to be feeding him the potion from the cauldron, even if Master screamed stop. Then Kreacher was supposed to take the locket and leave and destroy it." Kreacher surprised him with yet another heavy sob. "Kreacher could not do it, though! Kreacher fed Master all the potion even though Master was in pain, and Kreacher tried to give Master water but the Dark Magic came out and grabbed Master, so Kreacher was following orders and taking the locket back to the house.

"But Kreacher could not destroy the locket. Dark magic, Kreacher knew, and Kreacher could not destroy it. Then Master Sirius and the others threw it out. Kreacher tried to save it, but the thief stole it and Kreacher could not leave the house to get it back."

"Thief?" Harry had been right up to the end of the story; Kreacher had nicked the locket in one of his attempts to keep them from purging the house of its evil. The real locket had been under their noses for months, under Dumbledore's nose. It was enough to make him sick; there was no reason for them to have been in that cave that night.

But now someone else had the locket.

"Mundungus Fletcher is being the thief of the locket."

"Kreacher, I don't suppose you could track him down for me?" Harry wasn't sure what frightened him more; the dry sobs the elf had been giving as of late, or the maniacal grin he gave now.

"Is Master ordering Kreacher to find Fletcher?" Understanding dawned and he nodded.

"Yes, Kreacher, find him and bring him here alive." With a crack, the elf disappeared, and Harry was one step closer to finding a Horcrux. Destroying it, on the other hand, would prove to be significantly more difficult.

* * *

_Seeker—_

_ It's almost the end of summer, and though it is going to be weird without you, we understand that you're finished with school and have to move on with your life. Still, we do wish you would have stopped by to say hello at least once over the summer._

_ We missed you at the Wedding, but that's alright—it rained and ended up being horrible anyways._

_ If you ever need anything, you know where to reach us. Try to keep us updated when you can. We hope this letter finds you well._

_With Love—  
Chess, Charms, & Hex_

"Chess, Charms, and Hex?" Ron had sounded skeptical as she handed the letter to Pig late last night. There was no address on the front, but she muttered that he was to take it to Grimmauld; hopefully, Harry would receive the letter at some point.

"Well, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny probably would have indicated that 'Seeker' was Harry. I just used what we're best at."

"Dammit!" Ron lashed out at the nearest object—a dresser—and began cursing. "Why won't he let us help?"

"Ronald, you know Harry as well as me. Is it really any surprise to you?" And even though he didn't answer, Hermione knew he understood.

"Fine, but I don't have to be happy about it."

"Ron, Hermione—are you ready to go to Diagon?" It was shopping day, and for the first time since she could remember, Hermione was not excited about the end of summer. She did not want to go back to Hogwarts. She and Ron wanted to be with Harry, helping him find the Horcruxes.

"Yeah, Mum, we're coming!" They shared a resentful look and made their way downstairs to stand with Ginny and Molly Weasley at the fireplace. Arthur had been working overtime and weekends to eliminate suspicion that he was still helping the Order. Of course, he was helping, but with blood status on the line (despite their Pureblood status), helping "blood traitors" could result in being 'Kissed' anyways.

"Alright, then. I'll wait for you on the other side; no wondering off." Hermione and Ron weren't exactly low-profile targets. Many people had speculated that they knew exactly where Harry Boy-Who-Lived Potter was hiding out. Suddenly they felt like they had an inkling of what it was like for Harry to be cooped up, always under constant supervision.

It made Hermione felt bad for berating him whenever he snuck down to the kitchens or to Hogsmeade under the cloak. Add to that they were the only three besides Harry who knew about the Horcruxes and discussing anything of import became very difficult. Molly was forever checking up on them in their shared room to make sure they hadn't Apparated away; she still thought they were going to meet up with Harry somewhere.

"Wondering off, my arse," Hermione muttered as Ginny walked into the fire after her mother.

"Swearing, Hermione? I wouldn't have expected it." She winked and walked into the fire; after everything that had happened and was going to in the coming year, swearing didn't seem like such an infraction anymore.

She arrived into the middle of Diagon Alley beside to redheads and waited with them for the third, surveying the crowd. It made her sick that known Death Eaters were simply coming and going as they pleased; no one was trying to arrest them or call the Ministry—not that it would matter, obviously.

They had been instructed to keep their heads down, although the trademark Weasley hair made that very difficult. Still, they had to make an effort not to look anyone in the eye while not looking overly suspicious.

She felt Ron's reaction before she saw what made him react. He moved to stand in front of her and took smaller steps, his whole body tensing as his hand hovered over his wand without actually grabbing it. Doing so would have drawn attention.

"Ronald, what…" And then she saw them; Severus Traitor Snape and Draco Death-Eater-in-Training Malfoy. The mere sight made her want to vomit in the street, and she noticed Molly pale a bit, but they continued walking until they reached Flourish & Blotts, never passing the Slytherins. Hermione had seen their eyes drift over the small group, though, and she shivered. When the door finally shut, she felt her arm get lighter as Ginny released her; she hadn't even noticed the girl's grip.

For the first time, she realized how alone they were going to be at Hogwarts this year; there were more Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws, but the Slytherins—the Death Eaters—held the power now.

* * *

After an enlightening conversation with Mundungus (one that involved several harsh words and the threat of a Cruciatus Curse, ending with the thief fainting in fear that Harry really would perform the curse), Harry was exhausted, finally laying back on the sofa. It had, of course, occurred to him that Fate was planning on making everything impossibly difficult. After all, why else would he be contemplating the best way to break into the Ministry undetected and retrieve the locket that had been confiscated from Mundungus?

And, of course, why else would the Ministry official that had confiscated be Dolores Umbridge, the Queen of 'I Hate Potter' (the King being Voldemort)?

So now, he had three vials of Polyjuice and his own creativity and ingenuity…for a moment, he considered writing a letter of apology to the Wizarding World. Breaking into the Ministry without making it seem like a break-in and then stealing from someone right under their nose? Not to mention the Ministry was under Death Eater control now.

A glance at the clock told him it was six-thirty in the morning. He'd been unable to fall asleep after sending Kreacher on his mission, so he'd continued reading the journal left by Dumbledore for a few hours before the two had popped back into his kitchen.

Sometime between reading the journal and Kreacher arriving, though, he had been pleased to receive two letters. Draco's still lay open and he glanced at it every now and then…he missed the blond. More than he cared to admit, as a matter of fact.

_Harry—_

_ You're far too persistent for your own good. I wish I could tell you how right you are, that young Draco is up to something, but it would ruin everything. I apologize now for misleading you so much._

_ I believe some amount of years ago, Tom hid Slytherin's locket in a cave—the one from a memory I have yet to show you. Near the end of the year, we will visit. The night of this visit will be carefully planned; it will be the same night Draco lets in the Death Eaters._

Harry had dropped the book in a mixture of shock, amazement, and anger.

_Yes, Harry, I will die that night, and if you are reading this now, it means you are extremely disappointed with the fact that I knew I was going to die and did not warn you. As with everything I tell you, accept that there is a reason for everything, and though you may not have all the pieces, it is what we do with the information we have that counts._

—_Albus_

There had been many entries after that, short ones that Albus had taken up about a page with each, but none were as earth-shattering as the one that told Harry the man had dictated his own death.

_"To the well-organized mind, Death is but the next great adventure."_

If Harry hadn't known better, he might have said Dumbledore had been planning his death since his own First Year. The words spoken so long ago resonated within him, making him want to be angry, but filling him with a sense of calm that all Albus' words tended to do…for the most part. Sometimes they made him want to trash the Headmaster's office.

Of course, a short while after reading this entry, Kreacher reappeared with a prisoner. Harry Obliviated the man before sending him on his way, sparing no caution for his well-being. He had heard through the thief's own runaway mouth that Mad-Eye Moody was dead because Fletcher had Apparated away in fright; the man deserved nothing less than a less-than-careful mind-wipe. The keeping of Harry's location was far more important.

But now it was nearly seven, when Diagon Alley would start getting busy and, more importantly, Ministry workers would begin filing in and out of Muggle London. The most important part of any infiltration is background information; even the Death Eaters knew that part.

So Harry found the "Loo" that the Ministry used to transport workers in and out of the building—across from the Muggle entrance to the Leaky Cauldron—and took his seat at a small coffee shop just across the street. He had his contacts in, but his face was hidden by plain black sunglasses and he had the hood of a sweatshirt pulled over his head. In Muggle London, a sweatshirt in summer may have been odd, but he was also a teenager—they were known for being illogical—and he'd cast a cooling charm on the fabric. All in all, he looked like any other patron…who happened to be keeping an awfully close eye on the loo.

He slid the waitress a £100 note to keep quiet about him staying there all day and ordered a black coffee, settling in with a pad of paper and a pen.

As he'd expected, there was a large rush around eight, noon, and five. Some left later…much later…but he wasn't focused on the 'when' at this point. He was more focused on the 'who'.

He would need to pick the right person. The Ministry had released news that it would be pushing for Mudbloods to be eliminated from the workplace, and selecting someone whose "blood status" was under suspicion would not help him along. He quickly learned to recognize one group from the other, mostly from the sense of purpose the known Purebloods walked with.

One man in particular caught his attention and Harry grinned to himself, setting another bill, a £50 this time as a tip, before making his way to Diagon Alley to pick up a few more things.

It was Monday. For three more days, he would take notes on the man's patterns. On Friday, he would strike during the lunch break, waiting until just before break ended to return to the Ministry, giving him the most time to seek out Umbridge. He would have to time it perfectly, though, so he hoped the man—imposing as he was—was also dumb enough to maintain a pattern. It was the most dangerous thing a person could maintain.

But he was also the perfect target. Everyone avoided him, yet he walked with a strong, solid presence, which meant he wanted everyone to fear him. And fear him they did; he had seen one cowering man look as though he'd rather cut off his own legs than use them to run into the black-clad man.

"S…s…sorry, Runcorn, sir." Runcorn, you've just become a target of Harry Potter.

It was about nine o'clock when Harry left, and he was about to hail a cab—he wasn't really in the mood to Apparate—when he caught a shock of blonde hair exiting the Leaky Cauldron. The short figure was accompanied by a familiar, taller one, and though both were wearing Muggle suits, Harry knew they were anything but.

"Fancy seeing you here, Bryan." The flick of Severus' left hand before he even spoke told him the man had just shot his wand into his hand…he was always prepared. Draco, on the other hand, jumped about half a foot into the air.

"H—Jacob." Draco looked excited for a brief moment before realizing where they were—yards away from the Ministry entrance—and settling back into a feigned nonchalance. "It is rather surprising, isn't it?" Beneath his hood, Harry shot him a smile.

"Mister Miller, everything is going well, I hope?" Severus had put his wand back, but Harry saw his eyes scan their surroundings quickly to make sure no one was focusing in on them.

"As well as can be expected, sir. I was just in town; thought I'd meet some new people." Translation: Complicated as usual. I'm gathering information before acting rashly.

"Never a bad idea. Just remember strangers can be dangerous, too." Translation: Good to know you have finally learned something. Careful who you target. "I suppose I can give you two a little time alone. I'll hang back." Harry felt much safer talking with Draco knowing Severus was maintaining protective shields and silencing charms around them.

As Severus made his way to the corner a few feet away, Harry saw his left hand flick once more, recognizing the silencing charm pattern. They were safe from most unwanted ears, primarily Muggles, meaning Harry could focus most of his attention on the boy he'd been desperately trying not to think about—it tended to make him crazy.

Just like now.

Unlike Harry, Draco did not have to hide who he was in public. His telltale blonde hair was styled perfectly, hinting at a fair amount of time spent in the mirror, and he was wearing one of his expensive, Muggle suits. They did a much better job of accenting his figure than robes, tailored or not, and Harry took a moment to appreciate the sight before actually returning his attention to the Malfoy's stunning gray eyes.

"Draco." Harry raised an eyebrow with a hint of a smile.

"Harry." The blond returned the smile, holding his position, waiting for Harry to make the first move. And move he did.

Within moments, Draco had his arms full of one teenaged Wizard savior, and Harry had his arms wrapped as tightly as possible without causing injury.

"I've missed you."

* * *

Despite how much he enjoyed helping his godfather with Potions, Draco was not going to deny his excitement at returning to a civilization that revolved around torture and bloodshed. True, the Wizarding World may listen to Voldemort's whims, but he didn't have to worry about being cursed for speaking at least. If anything, his reputation preceded him and he could speak his mind freely.

In Voldemort's Inner Circle, only Bellatrix and Severus were looked upon with more favor at the present moment, the latter more than the former.

Still, he did not like the looks of disgust and fear he received, which came from nearly every angle. Severus walked close enough to give him some feeling of safety, but his presence could not stop the feelings of disappointment. The odds that he would ever be welcomed back into normal society with open arms after Voldemort's impending defeat were very slim…microscopic even.

But he had wanted to go back to Diagon as much as Voldemort had wanted his right hand's right hand in the public eye, and, as Headmaster and previous Head of House, Severus already had Draco's list of necessary items for the next year. With nothing better to do, the two of them accomplished the necessary shopping by noon.

Throughout the day, Draco had watched Severus suffer through multiple people coming up to them and congratulating his godfather on his new position at Hogwarts. He was actually looking forward to the breaking point—when Severus could no longer take it and began hexing anybody who began their sentences with "con". It would have, for Draco, been mildly entertaining.

After purchasing some new robes, making small talk with Crabbe, Goyle, Blaise, and Pansy, and making a stop into the Leaky Cauldron to ask for a "Jacob Miller", it was finally late enough for them to leave. Severus had suggested staying out of the house for the rest of the night to give them both a much needed break from monotony and potion fumes, so they had planned to visit a Movie Theater—something Muggle that Severus apparently knew about from his days as a Hogwarts student himself.

At about nine, they made their way through the pub, ignoring the suspicious look they received from the barkeep. The fact that a boy of equal size and stature to Draco Malfoy—the different hair and eye colors notwithstanding, of course—had been asking for Jacob Miller only a day earlier was out of the ordinary, admittedly, but he wouldn't ask two people so far into Voldemort's good graces anything that could result in him being murdered brutally in his own bar.

They had just stepped from the pub when he heard the voice that haunted his dreams, nightmares, and waking hours. His heart nearly dropped from his chest when he realized how far he'd fallen from the haughty, emotionless Slytherin he had been months before. In some ways, it was disgusting. In others, it was rather uplifting, actually.

"Fancy seeing you here, Bryan." The name threw him for a moment before he remembered the letter he'd sent. It pleased him to know Severus had not only made good on his promise, but had made good on it so damn fast. Even he was impressed.

"H—Jacob." Next to him, he could feel Severus aura, tense; the man's wand was undoubtedly already in his hand, blending into the pants leg of his suit to avoid Muggle attention. While his godfather was watching for danger and protecting them, he was almost giving everything away in a moment of excitement. He silently thanked his ability to so easily change to the proper name before continuing. "It is rather surprising, isn't it?" Beneath his hood, Harry shot him a smile and he almost melted.

"Mister Miller, everything is going well, I hope?" Severus had put his wand back, and switched into code. The trick, he'd learned, was not to use code words, but to use unimportant phrases loaded with a double meaning.

Draco heard them, but didn't pay too much attention to the subtleties of the conversation. He was taking in the boy who'd haunted his nightmares…literally. Lately, he'd been starting to believe his nightmares were more of premonitions, which wasn't exactly a positive thought continuing his almost-maybe-boyfriend died in most of them.

Harry was dressed, like Severus and him, in Muggle attire, though his was far more street casual. He was wearing a pair of stonewashed denims and black sneakers with what looked like a heavy, black sweatshirt. Only Harry Suicidal Potter would wear a sweatshirt on what happened to be one of the hotter days of the year. Comparative to other places in the world, seventy-five Fahrenheit may not be much, but it still was not sweatshirt weather. Then there were the sunglasses, obscuring Draco's view of Harry's eyes…the eyes that always matched his Slytherin apparel.

Then, Severus Snape said the truly magic words.

"I suppose I can give you two a little time alone. I'll hang back." Draco saw Harry's eyes flit over his shoulders and knew he was checking to make sure they were really safe before saying anything else.

"Draco." Harry raised an eyebrow with a hint of a smile.

"Harry." The blond gladly returned the smile, holding his position, waiting for Harry to make the first move. He'd already become too much of a sap for this boy, the savior of the Wizarding World and the only person other person besides Severus who knew the absolute truth about everything. Despite honesty not being Draco's strongest suit, he tried to be honest with himself, and to be honest, he was fairly sure that he wouldn't be accepted by many people the way Harry accepted him even if the truth was well known.

He didn't have to wait long for Harry to make his move. Within moments, Draco had his arms full of one teenaged Wizard savior, and Harry had his arms wrapped as tightly as possible without causing injury. Draco returned the gesture, one hand in Harry's hair, the other wrapped casually around the brunette's waist.

"I've missed you." He almost didn't hear the muffled words spoken into his neck, but he caught them and allowed his smile to broaden.

"If I say I miss you, too, would it be overly sentimental?" He felt, rather than heard, the vibrations of Harry's laugh.

"For you? Probably." Harry drew back and Draco saw the flush that indicated embarrassment, but he ignored it, focusing on Harry's eyes—he'd finally removed the sunglasses as the sun was in the last stage of setting, sending the sky into twilight. "Draco?"

"Yes?" The boy was fidgeting and Draco tilted his head in confusion. The mood had gone from carefree to tense within moments, and he couldn't find a cause. Apparently, something important was happening in Harry's mind.

"I realized that I never asked you and I don't want something to happen and have me never have asked so…" And then Draco's heart stopped because he understood that line of conversation and still wasn't ready when Harry actually finished with "…do you want to be my boyfriend?"

Now it was Harry's turn to hold the other boy, because in the middle of Muggle London, just outside the entrance to the Ministry, Draco had moved to cup Harry's face and pulled him into a kiss that rivaled their first one on the top of the Astronomy Tower. Harry, the slightly shorter one, ended up tilting his head up and standing on tip-toe, but he had steadied himself on Draco's shoulders and Draco held tight to the boy.

Severus' privacy charms held up well; no one stopped to look at them. If Severus hadn't been the one casting the charm, Draco probably would have kept on kissing him with abandon in the middle of the street, but he did still have some Malfoy restraint.

"Can I take that as a yes?" Draco let another smile—more than he'd had in the last two months combined—slide onto his face as he pressed another kiss, softer this time, to Harry's lips.

"Yes."

"Good. Here comes Severus." Draco barely had time to react before he felt his godfather at his side once more. He also had still yet to let Harry—his Harry—go.

"Draco and I need to go; this is not the best place to have a reunion." Disappointed, the Slytherin noticed Harry nodding and moved back to his place at Severus' side.

* * *

Harry's words pleased him more than he cared to admit. The boy had finally learned the art of subtlety and conversing in code for a start. More than that, he was gathering intelligence, making calculated and educated moves. He seemed to realize that with no friends to immediately back him up, he had to be more cautious. More than that, the boy was taking it as seriously as Severus had tried to make him take it for years. Better late than never, although earlier may have saved the boy's godfather's life, but the past is the past.

To the point of irritation, he felt Draco's fidgeting beside him, and he rolled his eyes.

"I suppose I can give you two a little time alone. I'll hang back." And he moved to the edge of the street, casting a few charms, Silencing being one of them. The Muggles could not focus in on the scene created between the two obviously love stricken young wizards in their midst, nor could they hear them.

In an attempt to provide them as much privacy as possible in the few minutes they could get together, Severus included himself in the outside world; he could not hear the boys any more than the Muggle man reading the paper beside him. He did, however, spare a few glances in their direction.

Watching the two of them, Severus felt almost wistful. True, he had not had the Hogwarts relationship they had—his friendships with Lily and Narcissa had started off well, so they'd never had to worry about building something off of hateful feelings. That his godson and James Potter's son (and Sirius Black's godson) of all people could be as in love as Severus was certain the two of them were was incredibly astounding.

Building on six years of animosity, they'd come to the point of love, reciprocated and only prohibited by one man who would, hopefully, be gone by the time of their graduation.

Watching Draco with Harry—it was moments after Harry had asked Draco to be his boyfriend now—Severus realized Narcissa had been right. Draco was well worth the time they had lost and he wouldn't trade the boy away for anything. Now, the boy was experiencing a love he and Narcissa wanted desperately to reclaim and he was hoping—something Severus hadn't thought he could do anymore—that Harry fulfilled his prophecy for the sake of all involved, namely Draco.

Sometimes, when he was in school, he had envied the Gryffindors—even Potter and Black. The way they wore their hearts on their sleeves made it so damn easy to simply tell someone anything. That day James embarrassed him when he insulted Lily didn't have to be the end of their friendship, he knew. It wasn't prejudice that kept him from apologizing; he'd been well aware he was in the wrong, but he couldn't bring himself to show enough emotion to admit to being wrong…to someone else.

Even Narcissa's arranged marriage to Lucius didn't have to be, although he'd already self-admitted that he wouldn't give up Draco. Years after Draco had been born, he and Narcissa had been watching the boy play with his starter Potions kit and Severus had found out that Narcissa had extended her engagement in the hope that Severus would come bursting in, asking for her.

She had wanted him to fight for her and he had let her down. To this day, he felt ashamed that his inability to show emotion had lost him more time with her. It did help, though, that she partially understood. Narcissa had, after all, once been a Slytherin as well. Admitting personal things, emotions, did not come easily after years of being subtle, manipulative, and cautious.

But it didn't matter. It was done, and he was doing what he could about it now. He was helping to get rid of Voldemort so that Draco didn't have to be a Death Eater. He was going to make sure Lucius got what was coming to him so Narcissa didn't have to live in fear anymore. He was going to make sure he didn't end up in Azkaban so he could have the life with them that he so desperately wanted.

But right now, it was getting late.

He looked over again to see Harry's lips moving for a few moments and began walking over. Draco's subsequent kiss did not faze him as he continued his trek, intent on separating them to their rightful directions to avoid any more suspicion. Then he heard Harry say, "Here comes Severus," and made his presence known, realizing he was not going to interrupt anything now.

"Draco and I need to go; this is not the best place to have a reunion." He felt Draco's mood dip slightly and rolled his eyes. "1331 Spinners End. If you send them there, they will be transferred straight into a box in my desk without anyone else reading them."

"Headquarters. Same deal, only mine will appear in my rucksack wherever I am. I won't be able to write often, though, since I'll be…roughing it for a while." Severus lifted an eyebrow; the boy planned to go camping? When the Dark Lord implemented his Snatchers plan, the boy would have to be careful.

"Despite Albus' tendencies, do not say the Dark Lord's name while you are on your journey. He has a plan for the name and it will bring physical—rather than just mental—harm to those who use it."

"I understand. Thank you, sir."

"Goodbye, Miller." Severus caught the glint in the boy's eyes and let the corner of his mouth tick into a brief imitation of a smile before falling.

"Goodbye, sir. Goodbye, Draco."

"I love you, Harry." It seemed everyone in the party—apart from Draco—was surprised that he said it first, but Harry did not seem to be complaining one bit.

"I love you, too, Draco. Goodbye." And, like that, he was through the pub door and most likely Disapparated to where he belonged.

"So how about that movie, Severus?" As if the brat would be paying attention to anything now.

* * *

The day after, when Harry was safely back at Grimmauld, Draco and Severus were back at Spinners End, and Ron and Hermione had finished school shopping, they all received the news at the same time—with one exception.

Ollivander had been kidnapped. No one was suspected, according to the Prophet—everyone knew who it was, though.

Especially Harry Potter, who had witnessed it all through his dreams.

* * *

_Vampirealchemist:_ I wasn't quite in the mood for a drabble today, so I'll make the next one extra long. Promise!

_**PLEASE REVIEW!**_

_**Next Chapter:** Of Plotting & Infiltration _


	6. Of Plotting & Infiltrations

**A/N:** Every time I feel like I'm making progress, I look at how far I plan on taking this and realize I'm still another 12,000+ word chapter behind...and then another...and then another...but it really is so much fun, I don't mind. I just hope you all don't mind that it takes forever to update. I'd rather have long chapters that take awhile that are good than short ones to make an updating quota that really aren't any good.

Anyways, here's chapter six...that's it? Six? Yeesh, I'll lose my mind yet! Anyways, enjoy, review, etc.

* * *

**Of Plotting & Infiltrations**

* * *

It had been a long time since Harry had deliberately entered Lord Voldemort's mind. It had been longer still since Voldemort himself had successfully infiltrated Harry's. After the catastrophe of fifth year—resulting, of course, in the death of one Sirius Black—Harry had forced himself to understand Occlumency. To say it was easier learned through books than with Severus was a bold understatement—Severus had a way of intimidating his students in any and all subjects. But, luckily, Harry was able to keep Voldemort out.

His success in Occlumency had led to his curiosity in Legilimency and, thus, his careful caution in probing Voldemort's mind. Although he could not discover why, it was much harder for Voldemort to keep him out than it was for Harry to block the Dark Lord and, therefore, caused the wizard more pain than it did Harry. This discovery led to more invasions of the Dark Lord's privacy, though not many, as Voldemort was significantly stronger and eventually managed to block Harry.

When the madman was feeling extremely strong emotions, however, he let his guard slip and Harry caught glimpses of things he probably was not meant to know.

The kidnapping of Ollivander and the resulting conversation was probably one of those things.

_ Ollivander had just packed up the last of his things for the night. The unfortunate part of being a Wand maker is that the busy season only comes once a year for three months. The other nine are spent doing repairs, creating new wands and selling odds and ends to those who are unfortunate enough to sever their wands completely…how sorry he felt for those unfortunate souls. They only make a _true_ connection once and it is always to their first wand._

_ So he had taken most of the wand boxes out of the front window. The last back-to-school shoppers had been straggling, but they would leave for the Hogwarts Express tomorrow, armed with their new tools and eager for another year. He smiled, remembering the expressions of wonder as each new student held their wands._

_ And then a cold wind drew his attention from his recollections to the closed windows and doors. Moments later, his door blew open. He cringed, but not from the noise. A wand—12 and a quarter inches, yew with unicorn hair core, springy and appropriate for Charms—had flown from an open box and shattered upon impact with the wall. He felt the magic of a connection that would never be made seep into the floor and back to the earth where it belonged, but had not the time to mourn the loss before his back was against one of the many shelves in his shop._

_ Before him stood He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, wand to the old man's throat, levitating him with a sick and maniacal look in his eyes._

_ "Ollivander, you gave my Death Eaters false information." Before he had even felt the cold draft, he had known._

_ In the last week of July, a group of Death Eaters had come and tortured him for information on the connection between Mister Potter's wand and the Dark Lord's. He had given them everything he knew after a few hours of brutal torture, and they had left him alone, miraculously. Then again when a Mister Hartung came in a few days ago, Ollivander had noticed something off about the boy's father, the way he gave the Wand maker a cruel smirk. It was possible Ollivander had only been allowed to stay to equip the new students properly…and now his usefulness had run out._

_ "I…I gave them everything I had," he protested weakly. "I thought a different wand would nullify the bond your wands share."_

_ "It is possible," Voldemort taunted, "that you are correct; we have not had a chance to test the theory yet. But simply casting basic spells causes this wand to die." It was true; a crack had split the wand Ollivander recognized as Lucius Malfoy's._

"_It is because this wand is not truly yours."_

"_So how am I to kill Harry Potter with a wand that cannot handle a simple Levitation charm? This mistake shall cost you dearly. You have already outlived the time you should have been given." His words confirmed Ollivander's thoughts. "I think, Ollivander, a few days at my home shall loosen your tongue further as to a better solution." And with a crack and a flurry of wind that shattered several more wands, the two men disappeared from the Wand maker's shop, leaving scattered boxes, broken wood, and leaking magic from disintegrating cores._

Harry flew from his bed to find his hand already on his scar the way he used to awaken at the Dursleys after a particularly bad nightmare. He knew the only times he got access to the Dark Lord's mind anymore were in times of extreme mental stress, though whether Voldemort had been angry or happy in this particular vision, he was still unsure. He did know Ollivander would not be at Diagon Alley if he went to visit tomorrow, which he had not planned on.

Regardless, Harry now knew something rather important; Voldemort sought to destroy the bond between their wands, not knowing Harry had possession of another wand, unconnected to either of their wands. A wand, Harry now realized, would not reject him because it truly DID belong to him.

In the morning, it would be discovered that Ollivander was missing. With Voldemort in control of the Ministry—through Pius who was, clearly, a Death Eater to anyone who knew what to look for—it would be covered up. Ollivander would be undoubtedly made to look like a criminal.

On the one hand, Harry was furious. No one would search for the man because they would be told not to worry. The people's only source of information other than the Quibbler was being made to cover everything up because the villains were in charge. On the other hand, the Alley would not be mobbed with people. There would be no search or investigation. Harry would not be interrogated for simply walking the street.

It certainly would make breaking into the Ministry less difficult.

* * *

Between the reunion with Narcissa and Lucius and the run-in with Potter outside Diagon, Severus was quite sick of surprises. His life was one ridiculous event after another, though he had to admit he now realized it had always been like that. After all, he had been given—by a cruel twist of fate—two friends that meant the world to him and both had been taken from him in one way or another. He had lost Lily, first to his own stupidity and then to the Dark Lord's reign. He had lost Narcissa to Lucius and their Pureblood traditions.

To his dismay, he had been thinking on Lily increasingly often. Perhaps it was because he was being forced to maintain closer personal contact with Harry. Perhaps it was because dragging up memories with Narcissa led to memories of his other best friend. Regardless, he felt as conflicted as he once had as a child and it tore him apart from the inside out.

Lily had been his friend first. Before houses separated them from one another, before James stole her attention, before he sold his soul to the damned, it had been Lily. She had looked at him like a person and not as a blemish on society. To an eleven-year-old that had only ever known abusive parenting, a friend was a rare thing. It had been, in his mind, love.

To this day, it still was. There wasn't a day that went by he didn't think of Lily Evans Potter, his first friend and first love. Her studying habits; her wedding to James Potter; her dead figure, lying on the ground beside a wailing fifteen-month-old. There was a reason he always looked like he lacked sleep.

Sometimes, he felt he was being unfair to Narcissa. She had long ago attempted to set him straight, saying it was not abnormal to love two people equally in the same way. Love, she had said, is endless and unlimited and there is always more to be made. That he loved Lily despite her being with James did not bother her because she knew he loved her as well. Besides, she had said, she completely understood—Lily was such a kindhearted person; she could melt the ice on any Slytherin's heart.

So he had been, was, and always would be in love with his two best friends. He had lost his chance with one in more ways than one, but he would not give up on his chance with Narcissa. So long as they could both survive this war, so long as Harry's side won the war, they would have a chance to be together again.

Severus had spent years perfecting his patience. He did not make unwise decisions because of haste or incompetence and he knew it took strong willpower to not act rashly. Still, remembering Lily and thinking of Narcissa, he turned over in his bed to look at the empty ceiling, wondering how much longer he would have to wait.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy was by no means a stupid man. If anything, he was rather brilliant, as he nearly always managed to finagle his way to the correct side in time for him to be considered—if not completely innocent—innocent enough to escape punishment. He had never let himself be seen as a Death Eater in the first days of the Dark Lord and, as such, was not charged when the Potter boy defeated his Master the first time. As the head of a Pureblood family that had married his way into another wealthy and well-known Pureblood family, he was very affluent in society, donating to all the right causes a Pureblood would deem worthy. As such, though many people still saw him as a despicable personality, they could not accuse him of Death Eater activity.

He had weaseled his way into Fudge's confidence and aided in the downfall of the Ministry. He had gotten Dumbledore eliminated from Hogwarts—if only for a short time—and maintained his position on the School Board up through the previous year. And he had been the Dark Lord's right hand man.

But after their slip-up resulting in the Ministry being forced to admit Voldemort's return as well as his own sighting by the Minister himself, many of the Dark Lord's previously most-faithful had been demoted. That was where things had started to go downhill from where they had been so high before.

He had kept such tight control of his family. Narcissa dared not oppose him and was the epitome of Pureblood perfection. Of course he knew about the relationship between his wife and his son's godfather. He even knew why Snape was Draco's godfather; Narcissa had not been subtle in her pleadings to the Dark Lord.

But he had instilled in Draco a fear so palpable that Severus could not hope to influence his son. Or so he had thought.

He had thrown Draco under the metaphorical bus, forcing him to take the Mark a full year earlier so that he could improve Lucius' standing that much faster. With all that had gone wrong, Lucius could not hope to regain his previous prestige.

And then Severus had come back with his son from the forest, proving to the Dark Lord who the best role model for his son—HIS SON—truly was. And since the day it became known Severus had taught Draco everything he needed to know—whether in being a Death Eater or a Potions Master—Lucius noticed all the control fading from his life.

The Dark Lord took over his Manor and took control of his House Elves. Severus' actions took more. He took Lucius' place as right hand man, took control of his wife, and took control of his son. Severus Snape had taken control of Lucius Malfoy's life, taken his place piece by piece.

And it would no longer be tolerated.

For longer than a few years, Lucius had had his suspicions that there was a mole in their midst. Until he had murdered Albus Dumbledore, Severus had been the prime suspect in the Malfoy's mind. Still, just because Severus was most likely not the traitor did not mean Lucius could not trick the Dark Lord into thinking it was so long enough to get Severus killed. So what if he was wrong? Severus would be dead and the true traitor would be sought out and eliminated as well.

And Lucius would get his life back.

* * *

"I bloody hate school," Ron muttered, failing to put his robes on. He was so distracted that he had made the childish mistake of running his left arm through the right arm hole of his robes, resulting in an inability to find somewhere to put his right arm. Hermione sighed with a reluctant smile and helped him as he continued ranting.

"Harry's out there somewhere, trying to do whatever it is Dumbledore wanted him to do, and we're stuck with Snape and that ponce Malfoy! It's Dumbledore's school and that git shouldn't be able to…he shouldn't…" He felt Hermione's hand on his shoulder and shuddered; her fingers were trembling as they tried to comfort him, rubbing circles into his back. Neither of them had been certain returning was a good idea; their friendship with Harry wasn't exactly kept secret. They could only hope that, even under Veritaserum, Voldemort and his minions would be satisfied with their lack of information and leave them alone, possibly use them as bait.

The latter thought wasn't exactly pleasant, but it was a preferable alternative to death—hopefully.

The train stuttered to a stop and they heard the main door to the car open. Casting a quick glance at the window, Ron saw a hoard of black cloaked figures. By the tightening of Hermione's fingers in his shoulder, she saw them as well.

They exited their compartment and stood with Neville and Luna, who were in the main area with multiple other students. Some were first years and Ron felt completely rationalized anger when he saw them huddled together. For them, this was their first glimpse of Hogwarts life and they were frightened; how dare Voldemort and his minions taint what should have been an amazing experience.

Then the Death Eaters boarded the train and two of them stood in the doorway, preventing exit. Ron had already drawn his wand and taken a prepared step forward, a brave face on that did not match his feelings. He was surprised, though, when Neville stood up to face the black-cloaked men.

"Hey! He's not here." And then Ron felt incredibly stupid on two counts. One being that he hadn't thought of the fact that they were looking for Harry. He had simply been prepared to defend his fellow students should it come to that. The second being that Neville had figured it out so quickly. He could only look on with a barely maintained mask of disdain as the Death Eaters disembarked.

Ignoring the Hufflepuff that had been stupid enough to threaten Death Eaters with a report to his father, who was undoubtedly unimportant, Ron turned to look at Neville. The Gryffindor wasn't even trembling, making Ron realize how different he was from the first year that had so desperately tried to stop them from escaping to the third floor corridor.

Neville turned to face him and Ron saw the same steely determination he saw in himself every time he looked in a mirror, and for one of the first times in months, Ron thought more about Harry than just about his quest, which he had neglected to tell his friends about—with the exception of what the Horcruxes were. He didn't just think about if Harry was okay, or if Harry was succeeding.

Was this what Harry had been seeing? And how long? Since Dumbledore's death? Sirius? Cedric? It was the determination to face the day because more than you depended on success. It was resignation—but not apathy—but worse than that was the feeling, or lack thereof, of any sort of hope.

Because hundreds upon thousands of people were putting their faith in one boy who had only just come of age.

For seven years, Ron and Hermione and those close to them had known about Voldemort's attempts to return, and they had been content with the trio's explanation of his failure—Harry, Ron, and Hermione had stopped him. And despite their insistence, it had truly been dumb luck. Harry's mom's protection, Fawkes and Dumbledore and the Sorting Hat, a fluke connection between their wands…it had all been luck.

And the people close to them—the Order, their friends—knew the amount of luck that played a part in their escapades compared to skill. The odds of Harry surviving third year if Sirius _hadn't_ been his godfather? Not high.

But the rest of the Wizarding Community? They were putting all their chips on one hand that, from an outsider's point of view, really wasn't all that great. It was folly and, at first glance, it seemed like hope, but it wasn't.

Ron held out his hand as the car descended into silence, watching the two best friends of their supposed Savior and the Gryffindor that had seemingly been stupid enough to stand up to two fully trained Death Eaters. Neville didn't even hesitate before clasping Ron's forearm in a show of brotherhood and he smiled—of all people, Ron was glad to have Neville on his side.

Hermione slid one hand onto his shoulder and squeezed and he saw her nod at Luna and Ginny and, for the first time in a long time, Ron felt that desperation change into something more familiar.

* * *

Harry tried not to allow nervousness to creep into his system. For the last few days of reconnaissance, he had been impassive and observant, cataloguing every one of Runcorn's movements. There was a slight part of him, born from interaction with Snape, wanting to belittle the man and call him abhorrently stupid for not changing his routine so as to lessen an enemy's ability to make him an easy target. That slight part was ignored by the rest of him that realized he was that enemy that needed Runcorn to be an easy target.

He had prepared himself thoroughly, and a tent, as well as other camping necessities, was already packed into his Rucksack with the undetectable extension charm. Breaking into the Ministry—and a Voldemort-controlled Ministry at that—was not going to be easy, if even possible. He was about to find that particular bit out for himself. Still, to not be prepared would be to exude arrogance, which he thought was better suited for Draco.

At the thought of the blonde, he let a smile slip across his face before settling his face into his mask of indifference. In a period of between five and ten minutes—barring some unforeseen problem within the Ministry—Runcorn would exit the public loo. Thirty minutes later, he would return. It was when he returned that Harry would stun him from beneath the cloak and next to an abandoned storage unit, dragging the man into the unit and making sure he stayed asleep for at least an hour. If there was a Mark on his arm, he may end up asleep longer.

Harry had thought about enacting his plan as soon as Runcorn passed his hiding place on the way out of the loo, but quickly abandoned that thought. It would look suspicious if Runcorn returned too soon, especially when it was not part of his daily routine. Less people in the Ministry would not be worth the possible suspicion his actions would raise.

Runcorn passed the first time. Harry had approximately another half hour to pass before his target returned. He wondered if this was the most difficult thing he would have to do. It seemed that, despite the fact that the locket had been retrieved from Voldemort's initial hiding place, retrieving it for its destruction would prove to be just as difficult an experience.

Except this time he had to do it alone while in a crowd of dozens of people that wanted him incarcerated. Brilliant. He supposed, at least, that this was less difficult than breaking into Gringotts' or trying to return to Hogwarts…the former was impossible and the latter would be impossible until he had destroyed all the Horcruxes but that one that Dumbledore was certain was there somewhere.

He had thought about asking his friends to do some subtle snooping and hunting of their own to discover the Horcrux, but he had no idea which it might be. _The diary…the ring…the locket…the cup…the snake…something of Gryffindor or Ravenclaw_…no…now it was some diadem. It was either Hufflepuff's cup or Ravenclaw's diadem tucked away safely in the castle somewhere, of that he was sure…or Dumbledore was sure of anyways.

And the other…well, Harry had a few thoughts on that, but he needed a lot more information. After all, one didn't simply break into Gringotts without knowing what vault they needed to get into and the proper connections. He had a feeling Gornuk could be that potential connection, but he didn't know if Voldemort had his own vault or if he had entrusted it to someone.

And there were well over fifteen hundred vaults in that cavern, as well as dragons and other precautions. No, three days of preparation for that particular adventure would be thoroughly insufficient. But this one…

_"Stupefy."_ One muttered word and his plan had begun.

* * *

Of course he knew from the moment the train stopped what was going on. But he was in a car with the rest of his fellow seventh-year Slytherins. As soon as the Death Eaters assigned to their car caught one glimpse of its occupants, they would leave. Harry would not have lasted two seconds in such a place—although he had made it a near hour when he'd snuck into their compartment last year.

Draco winced at that thought when he remembered what had come after. Miraculously, Harry had made it back to Hogwarts. Though he'd been incensed at the time that, once again, the Golden Boy had finagled his way back with little problems (though his nose had still been bloody, not broken), he was glad now it had worked out.

It was just one of many times Draco remembered him being an arrogant little snot and Harry being hurt—intentionally or not—in the process. Their detention in the Forest first year was just one of many; the Dementor trick third year could have had Harry killed; his position on the Inquisitorial Squad had certainly not helped. Then there were the Quidditch matches where he'd almost knocked Harry off his broom or the 'Support Cedric' buttons he'd made during the Triwizard Tournament.

And yet Harry had fallen in love with him. It made him question the Gryffindor's mental stability sometimes, it really did.

As predicted, the Death Eaters—even Draco couldn't tell anyone other than his father and godfather beneath the robes, and that was because of the way they moved—took one look at his face and left. It was helpful, he supposed, to have some sort of credibility within the Dark Lord's ranks.

"Potter's been missing since midsummer; does the Dark Lord think he will simply show up, knowing Professor Snape is Headmaster now?" Theodore Nott was twirling his thin, black wand between his nimble fingers with a finesse that screamed Seeker had Draco not bought his way onto the team. It was another not-so-rare occasion of his arrogance. He chose to not completely blame himself; Harry used to bring out the worst in him, and sometimes still did.

"He never did seem particularly brilliant," Pansy giggled stupidly, curling her arm around Draco's in a manner he would have found extremely distasteful were he with Potter or not. It was unbecoming of a Pureblood female to act so…clingy. They were to be polite, demure, and pleasant…unless interacting with a Gryffindor, of course…or perhaps that was Slytherins in general?

He had found himself associating himself less and less with both categories. A true Pureblood would not risk the continuation of his line by involving himself with someone who was of the same gender—and could therefore bare no heir—and whose involvement could result in death on his part. And involvement with Harry would result in immediate death on his part from either Voldemort or Lucius.

And a true Slytherin would not care about love when confronted with the more pleasing option of life, complete with money, power, and influence, though the latter could be often attributed to the first two.

"Pardon me," he muttered, standing to exit in the direction of the loo, giving him a suitable excuse. But he didn't go to the loo in the Slytherin car; he opened the door to the next train car and slammed it shut behind him, eager to at least put a wall between him.

Then he slid to the floor in a moment of complete and utter weakness, ready to Obliviate anyone who unfortunately walked in on him rather than concocting a story to make sense of his current position, and let a tear fall. Because Harry was somewhere in Britain, trying to bring down Voldemort and risking himself in the process while Draco's "friends" mocked him mercilessly, which Draco was powerless to stop.

How had Severus managed to hear Voldemort taunt Dumbledore, a man as close to him as his godfather was to Draco? Much more, how had he been able to kill him, even with the Unbreakable Vows in place? It spoke of a strength Draco never wanted to be in a position to need because he knew he could never possess it—unless he could save Harry's life.

Despite his early objections, his reactions, emotions, and demeanor when he saw Harry, even if in the newspaper or in person for a few brief moments, could not be described as anything other than the love he had previously believed himself incapable of.

Months ago, on the ledge of the Astronomy Tower, he had told himself that he did not deserve someone as Light and caring as Harry, that he would only taint him and leave him for worse. Harry, he had reasoned, would be a shell of what he once was if Draco was allowed his way.

Instead, Harry had taken the broken shell of a Death Eater's son and turned him into someone with a purpose for living with a few pretty words, a passionate kiss, and the promise of something Draco had never thought he would be worthy of from anyone other than Narcissa, Severus, or Crissy—love. Oh, how he cringed at the word still, but to call it affection or devotion was to sully it. And so he didn't say it aloud unless to Harry himself, a reasonable precaution.

He was broken from his thoughts by a flash and a gray jet of light that hit him before he could register anything. He hadn't even heard footsteps, and who would hit him with a Full Body Bind rather than a Stunner or disarming him?

A flash of red in a petite form told him all he needed to know, and he was suddenly reasonably worried; the Weasleys did not know the truth, and this one was famous for a temper and a skill with hexes unmatched by any. In her venture to presumably use the loo, which was the door he'd been unknowingly leaning against, she had come across a perfect target.

"Draco Malfoy," Ginny muttered, opening a surprisingly vacant compartment and shoving his frozen form in, closing it behind her and drawing the shade. "You and I need to discuss something."

* * *

Moments after they watched the Death Eaters leave the train, they felt the jolt of motion and relaxed. They would be at Hogwarts in forty minutes, though most of the students had already donned their robes, whether in anticipation or a lack of something better to do. Many of the first years were struggling with the tie and she had helped more than a fair few understand precisely what order the layers went in.

Unable to stand the inane chatter of the rest of the car and the determined silence of her small group, she stood with the proclamation of having to use the loo. She had been, admittedly, surprised when Hermione handed her a small hand mirror.

"Trick from second year," the almost-graduate had explained. "Use it to see who is around the corner so you have more of an element of surprise. Cast a spell off of it and it will bounce and hit your target at the end of the corridor; they won't have as much of an opportunity to block you or respond." It was with a mixture of pride and disappointment that Ginny remembered exactly why Hermione had had to figure out that particular trick.

Her first year had not been her best, by any stretch of the imagination.

She hadn't expected to find a use for the mirror. Other than, of course, the first years, the students had separated themselves—Slytherins and everyone else. Some first years that had Death Eater parents had gotten the memo, but other than that, it was relatively green-free. So when she saw the platinum blonde head bent over in what she knew to be a position associated with despair, she made up her mind.

He had seen the spell, she knew, when he jumped to his feet, but he hadn't had enough time to block—just as Hermione had predicted. Thoughts of the loo disappeared from her mind and she decided it was nothing that could not wait—this was far more pressing.

"You and I need to discuss something." She could see the clear fear in his eyes and was overjoyed that her reputation had preceded her. It was a useful thing to know that she inspired fear or would be underestimated by most people. With a flick of her wand, she muttered a _finite_ and watched as he fell onto the bench, again in control of his own body—for the time being. She could have a Bat Boogey Hex on her lips before he'd even considered cursing her, although she didn't think he would.

"What could I possibly have to discuss with you, Weaslette?" She simply raised an eyebrow at the childish nickname and waited for him to get everything out of his system. She also took the time to cast a Silencing Spell on the compartment. "Planning on torturing me?" He was giving her a sneer, but she simply looked on in indifference. After facing her actions from first year and Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries two years ago, Draco Malfoy hardly scared her; especially when she knew he hadn't even delivered the final Killing Curse—that bastard Snape had.

"Isn't torture more your route, Malfoy?" And there it was—the minute cringe she'd come to associate with Harry when someone said something that made him uncomfortable. People, she had come to notice, were inherently similar. Sure some of them had different quirks and ticks, but there were some things that could only be associated with one general emotion. That wince he'd just displayed? Discomfort.

"Ah, but it's not, is it? You're not Malfoy Jr., Death-Eater-in-Training slash Wannabe anymore, are you? You never really were." The moment she let the taunt creep into her voice, she also noticed his eyes go ablaze; her words were getting to them. More than that, they were getting to him because they were true, and the truth of her words were causing a fear within him to creep up that was about to be combatted the only way he knew besides curses.

"What do you have to gain by this, Weaslette? What are you trying to prove?"

"Relax, Draco—and I'd prefer you call me Ginny, or at least Weasley. We do happen to be rather close to the same person, and I doubt he'd like us enemies." The expression on the blonde's face alone was enough appreciation for her spilling the secret she'd kept from Ron and Hermione since the end of last year.

At first, Ginny had been content to go with Hermione's explanation for Harry's behavior last year. Malfoy had, of course, always been a perfect scapegoat. She had heard tale of them trying to pin her actions on him during their second year with the Chamber fiasco. And Harry had always had an unhealthy obsession with his actions, though the true source was probably as convoluted as their daily interactions.

So Ginny had been content to believe Harry thought Malfoy was up to something. Considering how quiet the whole year seemed to be—besides Katie Bell being cursed and Ron being poisoned—Harry simply seemed like he needed his annual distraction.

Then it got steadily more interesting, though she had kept her observations to herself. Little hints he dropped that Ron and Hermione would never notice. They were, she decided, too close to the situation to assess it rationally. She had spent time with Harry, but more than that, she had spent time analyzing Harry. Call it sick, obsessive, whatever, but she had gained more insight to his nuances than his friends had or ever would. Careful observation and all that.

She knew the subtle cringe that told of discomfort. She knew the twitch of the fingers of his right hand when he was annoyed that told of wanting, not to curse, but to punch someone, proving he had grown up with Muggles. She noticed the way his eyes darted across a room, assessing each member individually as a threat and constantly moving between those he decided to be higher on the list than the others. That part had only come up in the last two years. Constant vigilance.

And she knew, the moment he'd kissed her after Gryffindor had won the House Cup, that they wouldn't work. She hadn't deduced until over the summer the exact why or who, but she'd figured out enough.

"Do enlighten me, _Ginevra_," and here she pointedly ignored the venom with which he thought he was delivering her given name, "who could possibly be a mutual friend of ours?"

"Harry of course, you dolt. And pretending with me will get you nowhere, especially since I haven't told anyone else my conclusions." She sat patiently waiting for him to realize she was not trying to screw him over. It would probably take much longer than they had for that. "Suffice to say I know he likes you, I know you know, and I know you like him." There was a brief flash of fear that sparked in his eyes, but no lack of knowledge or crop-up of curiousity. "And your facial expression just confirmed it, thank you. I didn't know, but I do now."

She knew of Harry's part in the situation; she had been unsure how far the boy had taken it and how much Draco knew. Apparently, Harry was braver than she had assumed if Draco knew. And she was good enough with Memory Charms that it wouldn't have been a huge problem if he had done less than she thought.

"Weasley…"

"Well, it's a start. And I stand corrected; I have a few things to say to you, and you're going to listen and comment after…not so much a discussion I guess. Plain and simple is I figured this out on my own. The odds of anyone else doing so are near nonexistent, and now you know in what ways you give yourself away so you can protect against them should someone else someone steal that information from you—goodness knows they won't get it from me.

"I'm observant, Draco. If you don't like me, you still have to give me that. From the few words you've managed to get in as well as your emotions, I've correctly deduced that Harry's told you he fancies you, you've returned the sentiment at least in part, if not in kind, and you've no interest in being a Death Eater. How am I doing so far?" No response, she assumed, meant not too bad.

"I only call you on this, Draco, because I know what it's like to be alone in a group of people you want to trust but can't because it could mean dishonor, incarceration, and death should you be wrong. And if I'd known then what I know now, I would have told Harry much sooner what I was going through—hindsight is twenty-twenty they say. But now you know, upfront, that there is at least one person you can trust at Hogwarts that doesn't want you to be a double agent."

Ginny was pleased to note that Draco had yet to interrupt her, whether with emotional outbursts or heated words. Sometimes, doing business with other Purebloods who recognized generally accepted practices really was easier; they understood the idea of letting your partner finish their part before beginning yours.

And she saw he was carefully weighing her words, determining the truth in them before speaking; ill-spoken and ill-timed words could be poison to a conversation that could sometimes get one killed (at worst). In the moments before he spoke, though, he said more than he could have with words, and she gave her silent approval of him and the boy that had become her brother in all but blood.

Because his eyes sparked the same way Harry's did and spoke of similarities that she knew someone intending to be with Harry needed to possess. It was difficult to put into words exactly what she saw, but she knew whatever it was had been enough to turn a Weasley woman's maternal instincts from suspicious of disingenuous motives to relief, support, and happiness.

And Draco never did actually say anything. He extended his arm, much in the way Ron had to Neville earlier, allowing her to take it in a symbol of something less than familial and more than friendship. They both acknowledged where they stood—closer to Harry than the average person, but certainly not to one another yet—and where the other stood, and with a nod of his head, Draco exited the compartment.

She released the Silencing spell and let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Then, after a quick visit to the loo—she really had needed to go badly before—she returned to her proper place, explaining her absence as the fault of a long line of first years.

* * *

Lord Voldemort was very displeased. His minions had failed him on more than one important occasion in the last few months, and it seemed the only way to get anything done was to send Severus and Draco; they had been the only ones with success as of late. Of course, he hadn't sent them to do anything pertaining to the Potter boy himself. They had only been tasked with killing that wretched Headmaster.

But it should not have been this difficult to find the boy! He was still just that, a boy, a teenager with little to no experience. He had displayed less than stellar aptitude in any and all classes not pertaining to the Dark Arts and had never been given a formal class on escaping the Dark Lord's notice. Therefore, it stood to reason that this task should not be so bloody irritating.

He stopped pacing and wondered at the fact that he had just swore for the first time in a very long time. Purebloods tended to not swear; they were far too dignified for such activities. Of course he was a Half-Blood, but his disgusting Muggle father did not matter. He had secured himself a position that put more Purebloods in fear of him than not, which made him more important, if anything, than a Pureblood. Still, his slip-up, even in his own head, made him even more irritated.

Damn Potter. The boy was infuriatingly and forever in the Dark Lord's way for domination of Britain's Wizarding Community.

On top of that, he had begun to believe there was reason to suspect one of his own. How else could Potter, a boy that had previously succeeded on luck and Dumbledore's admittedly good foresight, have eluded his forces for weeks? It was inconceivable, especially when Potter's very nature—rash, yet predictable—was so easily discerned.

So he went to Severus Snape, who had shown the most loyalty of anyone in his followers, to flush the traitor out. There were many people in his group that would desert, he knew, if a large enough sum were offered. Runcorn was one, although he may have been more interested in power than gold. Yaxley and Macnair were two others. Then there was Lucius, whom Voldemort had taken great pleasure in slighting as of late.

If Severus came back with news of the traitor to be Draco or Bellatrix, however, even the Dark Lord would have a hard time believing the credibility, as they had been two of his other most loyal followers—both in the past and as of late.

With a brief 'Tempus', he reclined into his chair, previously Lucius Malfoy's, in front of the fire. Nagini circled his feet, sliding over his shoes as he stared maliciously into the dancing flames. Many things would be coming to head soon, but he already knew the outcome. He had more power on his side; it was simply a matter of wielding the power he so obviously had, and the Dark Lord Voldemort had never had problems wielding power.

* * *

His wife, as usual, had seated herself in the library. Voldemort refused to go in, claiming he had no need for dusty books on useless traditions and charms. A man of his power did not need books to instruct him—only his own intuition.

It was when his Master made statements like this that Lucius had to refrain from curling his lips in disgust. The Half-Blood had managed to trick hoards of Purebloods into believing he was one of them, though with the way he displayed obvious contempt for their traditions, Lucius had a hard time remembering why they had all fallen for it so easily. Of course, it had taken Potter exposing it for them to hear their Master was a fraud, but who would say it to his face and live?

Pureblood or not, the man had power. It was, Lucius noticed, becoming common for mangy Half-Bloods to have more power than the Purebloods that deserved it. Dumbledore, Potter, Voldemort—all Half-Bloods and all more powerful than anyone dared believe.

The door squeaked open, and Lucius cursed his elves and their idiocy for not taking proper care of his Manor. Just because someone else was in charge of them for the moment gave no excuse for lackadaisical cleaning skills. He would make sure to have them beat themselves later.

Dust coated the shelves in a thin layer, giving more reason to Lucius' anger. He had to breathe in slow, shallow breaths to keep dust from entering his nose and causing a sneeze. Utterly undignified, sneezes were. However, he was completely alone, so a sneeze would not be noticed. He checked once more to ensure he truly was alone before striding to the back of the library, coming to a halt next to a large portrait of Abraxas Malfoy.

Lucius took a moment to glance at the portrait of his father. When he died, his portrait would guard this entry.

"Lucius, still under the thumb of that arrogant Half-Blood, I've noticed," Abraxas sniffed indignantly. Abraxas hadn't liked the fact that Lucius had bound himself to begin with. Having someone else as a Master is thoroughly undignified. If Abraxas hadn't met an untimely death, Lucius may have very well been disowned as the heir, which would have been unfortunate as he was an only child.

"Father, cease your chatter. Your words are meaningless and so often ignored, it surprises me you still speak them. _Toujours Pur."_ Lucius had always found the modified Black motto, Always Pure, more appropriate for his Manor. Most Pureblood families had had nobler mottos in the earlier days. The Potters had some inane one about Love. Originally, the Blacks had had one pertaining to Death. Bella and Narcissa's aunt, the traitors Regulus and Sirius' mother, had managed to change it on all the documents that mattered.

The portrait swung open and Lucius stepped inside immediately, feeling comfort being in a room only he had access to that was only his. Everything was dark and cool—black carpeting and upholstery, cherry wood, and green or silver accents on anything needing accentuation. It was the perfect place to reflect or simply separate himself from his traitorous wife.

It would be easy, he supposed, to frame his wife for the deeds his Master believed had been done. It was clear in the way the Dark Lord had been conducting himself as of late that he too suspected a traitor. However, one of the things the Dark Lord displayed a clear contempt for regarding Pureblood tradition was the notion of public honor in the family. Disagreement within the household was natural, expected.

Outside of private eye was unacceptable, and that included throwing a family member under a bus of public shame or death, as it dishonored the whole family. Therefore, to sabotage Draco or Narcissa would break the very tradition Lucius hated his Master for showing contempt towards.

Severus, however, was not family. Severus seemed to display the same contempt, if anything, as he seemed to have no problem pursing a married Pureblood wife. Lucius' Pureblood wife. With a flick of his wand, he set his quill and parchment to work.

_SS—Escaped thanks to your help. –HP_

_SS—Hiding in Leaky Cauldron away from wedding. –HP_

_SS—Order wants information about next attack. –HP_

He also fabricated a few letters in Severus' hand that looked as though they were intended to be sent soon.

It was a simple matter of trickery and Occlumency. With Draco safely at Hogwarts, it would be easy to say the information had been sent to Lucius. If Draco was called in, he could perform a Memory Charm to make the Dark Lord think the erased memory was the one he was looking for.

On a simpleton, perhaps the plan would have worked. The Dark Lord was no simpleton, but in Lucius' mind, it was his only option left. Besides, it was only fair Severus suffer some humiliation, perhaps Death, after all Lucius had gone through because of him and his success…and his aide of Draco, whom Lucius had been unable to help. Given the opportunity, he knew he would have stolen Draco's thunder to relieve some of the pressure on himself rather than aide the boy in his path. Snape's actions were thoroughly unselfish and, quite frankly, un-Death Eater-like.

As he schemed, watching the quills write their traitorous words across the parchment, he ignored simple problems in his logic. For starters, using a spell to match Potter and Severus' handwriting left his magical signature on the parchment. Second, as the person to cast the final curse at Dumbledore, Severus was the least likely person to be a traitor to the Dark Lord. And third—Voldemort was just not pleased with Lucius at all. He certainly would not take the blonde's word over Severus just because of some ill-forged documents.

But desperate men do desperate things in desperate times.

* * *

On the other side of the portrait, Abraxas Malfoy smirked. His son had made the dreadful decision, against all his Pureblood teachings, to tie himself to another in servitude. In Draco, Abraxas had seen much better decisions…more Slytherin tendencies. He had only joined Voldemort to save his family, his mother more specifically. He was cunning, the way he seemed to think his Father and Voldemort had no idea of his true allegiances; he and Snape would have to be more careful around the portraits, as not all kept as quiet as him.

And he protected his own—his friends, his family, and the one he seemed to be in love with.

Abraxas had noticed the change in the boy since he'd returned from Hogwarts this past year. He did not carry the same arrogant air he had when he left. He had been humbled—scarred as well—but he seemed to be more worried than when he'd left. His Mother's safety was the only thing he had been truly concerned with when he left to complete the awful task assigned to him. Abraxas thought Purebloods were above everyone else, but he certainly was not blind to the merits of Dumbledore. Lucius had gained his self-righteous arrogance from trying to be King of the Slytherins.

If he had been paying attention, Abraxas believed Draco had managed that title through sheer natural ability.

But when Draco had returned, he still seemed worried, but his eyes were not directed at his Mother as they had been before. Now, he looked lost in thought while trying desperately to appear interested in the madman's ramblings so as not to get himself murdered at the Malfoy family dining table.

Yes, if Abraxas (or his portrait) had his way, Lucius would be dead—how that man ended up being the one to survive to adulthood and reproduce, he would never understand—and Draco would carry on the family name. It would, unfortunately, have to be through adoption, he mourned. Several signs over the last few years had pointed to two things that would detract from a _true_ Malfoy heir.

After everything he and his mother had been through, his grandson had turned into the type of person that would marry for…_love_.

And Draco Malfoy seemed disinclined to those of the female persuasion. Too bad.

* * *

It was a Sorting unlike any there had ever been before. There was no joy in the Great Hall, no floating candles. The ceiling, usually bewitched to show clouds and starry skies, was dark and stormy despite the clear night outside. Gone was the presence of Dumbledore, the feeling of excitement, the feeling of safe.

Death Eaters lined the doors. The professors looked grim. The Sorting Hat had been banned from singing a song…unheard of. Severus sat in the Head Chair. It all felt wrong.

There were only 17 first years to be sorted; five went to Slytherin. The other 12 were equally dispersed among the other three houses. Meanwhile, Minerva kept sending him dirty looks, the others looked at him in disapproval, and he had a speech essentially laid out in a correspondence by owl from the Dark Lord.

Finally, the Sorting was over and Severus stood to give his speech…or Voldemort's.

"Faculty and students, this year things will not be as they once were. Hogwarts used to be a place where being together and learning were the most important things. Now, we are a weak-minded society. It is with this in mind that we shall impose new structures, more orderly, more conforming. Do not expect to be coddled; the time for that has passed." He had kept his eyes moving over the four tables, making eye contact with at least four students at each table. Purposefully, he avoided staring down the Slytherin table—they were already supposed favorites. The idea was to scare the other Houses into submission.

He hated himself, though, and he could not bear to look at his godson—Head Boy, of course. Pansy Parkinson was Head Girl—obnoxious cow.

If he'd had it his—or Albus'—way, Granger would be Head Girl. As much as he despised her know-it-all attitude, she'd earned it. The First Years would be enjoying their first year, not cowering and wishing they'd never come. The Hall would be alight with candles and stars and good cheer as everyone ate the food diligently prepared by hardworking House Elves.

Instead, students were afraid to pile food on their plates, which was the same as it was every year. Students who knew him were torn between casting fearful and dirty looks at one another, of course because of him.

And Draco cast him a brief look that told him he'd have a visitor later tonight. It wasn't as if the boy didn't already know the password.

A half hour later, Severus had forced enough food down his throat to make people think he wasn't sick to his stomach. It was all he could do not to shiver as he stood and dismissed everyone for the evening; the eyes of his once friendly coworkers had turned cold and cruel, though he could not blame them. The murderer of their friend and father-figure sat in the once great man's place as though he deserved it. How he longed to tell them the truth.

Even now, he knew one of them was itching to curse him, hex him, kill him, but they could not; they would be dead before they had fully raised their wands and mentally scar a fair number of students in the process.

"Headmaster, will there be a faculty meeting tonight?" It was a tradition, of course, for the professors to retire to the Headmaster's office for lighter refreshments, lemon drops, and light conversation about new students and past ones. Albus believed in the magic of the first night, when hundreds of students can't wait for school to begin—a novelty that quickly wore off as soon as they received their timetables. He didn't feel right sending professors back to their rooms when they could all stay together for a little longer.

But that was Albus' tradition. To continue it would bring suspicion on one count and contempt on another—why would a man who had murdered the previous Headmaster continue his traditions? And so, yet another tradition had to be broken in the sake of saving face.

"No. Faculty is free to spend the evening at their discretion." He audibly noticed many sighs of relief and inwardly cringed; it was expected, but stung nonetheless. Minerva all but shoved the Sorting Hat into his hands to return to the Headmaster Office, and as she turned away, he felt his hand lifting of its own volition to grab her shoulder and begin explaining everything from start to end.

_No one, Severus. No one must know but Draco and Harry. No one._

He had, the man now knew, chosen Severus because he was used to isolation. He was used to being an outcast, hated by everyone he wanted to be liked by, barely tolerated by anyone. Had Albus known how much harder this would be? Had he intended to be so cunning, so cruel? How had the man been a Gryffindor when he was clearly more suited for the Slytherins?

"Severus." He was halfway up the spiral staircase to Albus' office—his office—when he heard the familiar voice. "Severus, put me on. We need to have a chat." Of course the ancient Sorting Hat was talking to him. Who else? Severus briefly noted that he should probably tone down the sarcasm when speaking in his own head before he became unbearable to even himself.

He felt utterly ridiculous putting the piece of patchwork on his head for the first time in almost thirty years.

"Oh do shut up; I'm not exactly a fashion statement. Then again, neither are you."

"Are you just going to insult me, or is there a point to this talk?"

"We'll get there."

* * *

It was the first time he'd really taken the time to observe the Ministry, but it wasn't as it once was.

On his first visit, he'd been rushed to the Department of Mysteries for his hearing, unable to stop and take in the sights. Obviously, he'd been more concerned with his impending expulsion than the tapestries and sculptures in the atrium or the true synchrony of the hundreds of fliers swarming the air. Likewise, he'd been far too busy trying to save Sirius to notice the massive Floo network or the fountain or the feeling of power in the building.

But even as he looked around, he knew this wasn't the Ministry of Magic he'd glossed over his last two visits.

Gone was the statue he'd once seen in the center. It was replaced with a Wizard and Witch on a throne held by Muggles and other magical creatures. Inferior creatures, Harry was disgusted to note. There were no fliers proclaiming activities or conferences; only hundreds of pages with his face and "Undesirable No. 1" printed on them in ugly block letters. And the Floo lit with dozens of people returning from work, dragging their feet and looking down as they hurried about to avoid drawing attention.

It certainly wasn't difficult to see who the Death Eaters were; they were the ones with the look of triumph on their faces, surveying the rest of the population with not-at-all concealed contempt. From his glance at Runcorn's forearm and his observations, he knew he would have to carry off his best impression of that disdainful look—filthy Death Eater.

He chose not to acknowledge the irony of the Chosen One masquerading as a follower of the Dark Lord Voldemort.

"Oof…oh…e-e-excuse m-me, s-s-sir…" A stuttering, mousy man with a thick mustache and thinning hair on his head began stammering an apology, most likely in fear of his life. Harry forced a glare reminiscent of the imposing Professor Snape and waited for the man to hurry along. Moments later, he heard the man being accosted by another…

"Cattermole! It's still raining in my office…" Harry didn't stay to hear the rest of the conversation, lest he hear more Quirrel-like stuttering from Mister Cattermole. He needed to find Umbridge and the locket.

His plan was to find her office—hopefully, she would be too busy to actually be inside of it. Actual interaction with the dreadful woman was to be avoided until absolutely necessary since she was one of the only ones in the damn Ministry that had a chance of identifying him by his behaviors. If only her office didn't look like her decorations at Hogwarts…

"Our first unfortunate impersonator is Mary Cattermole. Oh, Mathilda, I do hope we can get rid of all these magical impersonators…Albert!" Harry was too stunned to respond. Umbridge had just entered the lift with a woman that looked every part a secretary. She carried a roll of parchment and a Quick-Quotes Quill, but kept her eyes down as she followed the Pink Lady. "Albert, weren't you getting off?" He took a few awkward steps off the lift, still slightly unaccustomed to the height being Runcorn provided, and heard the voice in the lift call out 'Department of Mysteries' before disappearing, carrying the women away.

At least he knew where to find her if there was nothing in her office.

* * *

For five minutes, the infernal hat had the audacity to insult him left and right, though it was more subtle than some of his students. It simply slipped its jabs into a simple statement as Severus sat, fuming under the brim.

"I suppose I should get to it. You stopped me from giving my warning."

"It was at the Dark Lord's request." He didn't understand why he was explaining himself to the Hat.

"Because I'm more than just a hat, and you know that, stupid. Haven't you ever wondered how I manage to sort through hundreds of students, thousands even, and they always end up where they belong? Years before they've even crossed the abhorrent line of puberty?"

"I try not to think on it too much," Severus sneered. "I find there are more important things going on in the world around me than a damned Sorting Ceremony and the methods behind it."

"Touchy, aren't we? My, my…you're acting rather like a Gryffindor—maybe I did make a mistake somewhere." Severus knew that, if he could see the brim, the damned thing would be smirking.

"You have made mistakes. Remember Peter Pettigrew?" Suddenly, Severus felt his mind overwhelmed with sadness and regret, but it was not his own. He couldn't care less if he hurt…wait…now, all of a sudden, the damned Hat had feelings? Impossible.

And then he let loose a scream as searing pain shot through his head.

"I have as many feelings as you, Severus Tobias Snape, don't you make the mistake of thinking I don't. If anything, I have four times as many, considering I am made of the consciousness and memories of four separate entities." Honestly, he didn't care at this point; he just wanted the anger to stop racing through him. Moments later, it did, and he took a shaky breath.

"I know precisely why I was stopped, Severus. Rowena Ravenclaw was a great seer, after all, and I am part of her." The Potion Master slash Headmaster glared, though not at any particular object. It was a general glare at anything and everything at once.

"Then why…you know? You've Ravenclaw's seer ability?" Suddenly, thoughts of disrespect flew from his mind as he took in the implications. "Do you know how to stop the Dark Lord? How to help Potter?"

"Those who think they know all they need to know become complacent and foolhardy. To give you or young Mister Potter the answers would sever the tie of Fate that has already been created and any knowledge I have or will have will be for naught as it will apply to a Fate that will no longer hold relevance."

"Complacent? You think it possible to be complacent in a world such as this?" Sarcastic venom laced his words. "If you know something, it could be the key to saving this world."

"Or it will be its undoing. I did not ask you for this talk to discuss the plans for saving the world, Severus. I am here to aid you in menial tasks that will keep you alive." Severus sneered, wanting to yank the ancient piece of trash from his head and hurl it into the nearest bin.

"I have been keeping myself alive for near forty years; what could you have that would help me?"

"Only advice, two pieces at the moment—remember to check for magical signatures. I don't know precisely why I'm giving you this advice—I have yet to see the reason, but it will be necessary."

"Thank you, Trelawney…ow!" He raised a hand to the back of his head, met with the large, mangled brim of the Hat. Had…had the Sorting Hat just given him a slap to the head?

"I did and I'll thank you to not compare me to that old fraud. Any and all true prophecies she has made have been the result of my intervention." A touch of pride tinged that statement and Severus had the nagging sense that the Hat—and the Founders by extension—was proud of its intervention in the lives of people still living despite its lack of, he was starting to learn, humanity.

"Very well, and the second?"

"It will clear after the final battle; if you can avoid being assassinated, you will not have to bear this much longer. Do not go soft, do not cave in." That was all? He tried to press the hat for more questions, but was met with silence. Apparently, the Hat could sift through the mind of anyone it wanted, but to return the favor was simply out of the question.

"Bloody ridiculous Hat," he muttered, wincing when he felt another hit to the back of his head as he removed the offending item.

A knock on his door alerted him to a visitor. He knew he would be receiving only one tonight; no one else had any interest in speaking to him unless it was a well-aimed curse.

"Enter, Draco."

* * *

It would have been far too easy, he reasoned, but did she really have to decorate with those infernal cats every time she had an office? And the pink was very feminine but very unnecessary. He grimaced as he recalled Mad-Eye Moody's eye in the center of that ugly door with her name in curly script underneath, maintaining constant vigilance over the workers. Why did the Healers at St. Mungo's have to heal her mind from her scare with the centaurs? She would be much easier to deal with if they didn't have to deal with her at all.

Now he was in the lift, trying to figure out an excuse for interrupting the hearing to get Umbridge alone. One stop before the Department of Mysteries, the lift stuttered to a halt and two men walked in. One of the men was shivering and trying to avoid looking at him; it was the man that had bumped into him in the atrium. Cattermole?

"Afternoon, Albert." The other, a spindly man with dark hair and a wicked gleam in his eyes gave him a bow of the head, which Harry returned with as blank an expression as he could manage. "Are you headed down to the hearing?" Harry nodded, staring forward through the grates of the lift. "Suppose you could take this one? It's his wife in the hearing and I don't fancy being near to any of those blood traitors and Mudbloods." He heard the sneer in the other man's voice and had to restrain himself from performing a vile hex on the most-likely Death Eater.

"Very well." Despite how much he instantly hated the man on sight, Harry begrudgingly gave him a _thanks_ in his head—he had just provided the Boy-Who-Lived with a reason for interrupting the hearing.

When the lift landed, Harry slash Albert Runcorn stepped out with the scruff of Cattermole's jacket in his hands as the spindly man gave him a grotesque attempt at a grin and sped off in the magical elevator.

"Oh, M-M-Mary…" The man was trying to keep himself quiet, but sobs racked his body and Harry's heart lurched. He knew what was tormenting this man, but there was nothing he could do without giving away his entire operation. He could not sacrifice everything to keep this couple safe, but if he could, he would save them.

Their footfalls echoed in the cavernous hall, and as they neared the same room in which Harry's trial had been held, Harry felt very cold. Once through the doorway, he saw the Patronus shield keeping the ten or so Dementors at bay. Subconsciously, his hand tightened, though his wand was hidden up his sleeve, _Expecto Patronum _on his lips.

"Ah, Albert." She nodded at him, the ugly toad, and Harry realized he was expected to move, so he shoved Cattermole towards the cowering woman in the center of the room. This, Harry suspected, was Mary, but she did not matter at the moment. The locket around Umbridge's fat, pink-covered neck did.

"Now, you will tell us where you got this wand. Muggleborns cannot have their own wands; you must have stolen it." She said it with such sickly sweetness that Harry could have retched. Hermione was cleverer than most witches and wizards twice her age; of course she had her own wand and her own magic. He circled the room, keeping to the edge to avoid notice as he eased himself close enough into position. If all went well, he wouldn't even have to get near her.

"But I am a witch! Tell them, Reg, tell them what I am!" She looked desperately close to tears and Harry felt a shiver go through him as he realized what Hermione would be submitted to if they got ahold of her at Hogwarts. The school, he hoped, would remain relatively untouched as they hunted through Ministry workers first. By the time they thought to deal with the students, Harry would be prepared.

"_Imperio_," he muttered, pointing at the witch in the purple pinstripes beside Umbridge. He cursed himself when the pink woman's eyes turned to stare at him in suspicion; she had seen his wand flick from his sleeve to his hand. _"Take the locket when I say so and throw it to me,"_ he mentally ordered the Imperiused witch.

"Albert? What are you doing?" He felt his face morph and his insides change as he shrank a few—or more—inches and began to resemble the photo on the "Undesirable No. 1" posters in the atrium.

"You're lying, Dolores," he sneered, his expression very much similar to Severus' during Double Potions with the Gryffindors and Slytherins, "and one mustn't tell lies." He whipped his wand in a small pattern to wordlessly stun Umbridge before unbinding Mary Cattermole while yelling _"now"_ as loud as his mind would allow. Moments later, his hand clasped the locket. "Gemino." A copy, dull and empty of Voldemort's soul, appeared around the stunned witch's neck as he and the Cattermole's escaped the cold trial room, ten Dementors on their tails.

"_Expecto Patronum!"_ His three figures, the stag, dog, and phoenix, burst from the tip of his wand and rammed headlong into the former Azkaban guards, but he was too focused on jamming his finger into the "Atrium" button in the lift. "Go, go, go…" he was muttering to himself, ignorant of the couple behind him, staring at him in a mixture of shock, gratitude, and awe.

There was no sign of a disturbance when they reached the Atrium; clearly, there had not been an ale—oh, no there it was. "POTTER SIGHTED" was written in fiery red five-foot letters in the air, and he struggled to keep his head down while making his way inconspicuously across the room. It was fruitless, however; he was making his way against the crowd, and someone eventually glanced his face when telling him off.

"It's Potter!"

"Well, bollocks," he muttered, followed by some very choice curses. For a load of people that seemed to have laid their hope in him, they had no problem ratting him out. Ungrateful Ministry flock.

* * *

Draco had never been to the Headmaster's office. He didn't know about the knickknacks and other things Professor Dumbledore had kept in it. Not many people knew about the different silver, spinning objects that had stocked the room, wondrous to most students and professors. When Albus had died, the items had automatically disappeared and reappeared in his vault in Gringotts—the same vault that technically belonged to Harry if he could find the key.

Severus had sparsely decorated the place, keeping most of the books and other things as they were. The case where the sword of Gryffindor was supposed to hang was empty, behind his desk. Above that case was a snoozing Albus Dumbledore.

"Oh, wake up, you old codger. We both know you're just pretending," Severus muttered, glaring at the not-real Albus. The twinkling blue eyes opened immediately accompanied by a small smile.

"Mister Malfoy, a pleasure to see you again." Draco, however, felt choked up and chose not to answer. He knew, of course, that this was not the real Albus Dumbledore. Still, it was hard to look at the man he had almost murdered, would have murdered, had he not found a reason to stay on the right side of this war. "Oh dear, don't bother yourself with such thoughts, Draco. I was going to die anyways; it really isn't worth you feeling bad over." He said it with such a cheerful manner that Draco simply couldn't help but be confused.

During this moment of confusion, Severus, in his sweeping black robes, took his seat behind the Headmaster's desk, still looking a bit awkward. Draco supposed his godfather was still getting used to it, something he would have to do when Death Eaters or Voldemort checked in.

"Draco, how are your..._friends?"_ They both knew he meant the Slytherin Death Eaters-in-training that would sooner chew off their own limbs than fight for the Light. But even though he knew who Severus was referring to, Draco was thinking about his conversation with Ginevra Weasley on the train—Ginny. "Draco." Two sharply spoken syllables gained his attention faster than a smack to the head would have, and he internally berated himself. To show weakness in front of Severus, alone at Spinners End, was one thing.

To lose focus here, surrounded by spies and traitors on what was now Voldemort's home field, would mean death for himself, Severus, and Harry—ultimately. Word of their death would not find him welcoming. On the inside, he berated and cursed himself. On the outside, he raised one eyebrow in cool indifference as if to ask Severus what his problem was. Severus did not find it amusing.

"You know what we risk," he stated simply.

"More than you seem to think." For a moment, he debated what he should tell Severus. Only moments after did he feel ashamed for even thinking such a thing. Friend or enemy, Ginny Weasley was not above his godfather in any matter, and he would not keep this from Severus. "Ginny Weasley knows I don't really want to be a Death Eater." Severus, who had just been standing, nearly toppled over. If not for the hand he'd placed on the desk, he most likely would have, a rare moment of true surprise.

It took a far greater amount than most people thought to surprise Severus Tobias Snape nowadays.

"Are you mad? Do you know what that brat could do?" For some inexplicable reason, Draco bristled at the _Headmaster_'s words. Whether it was because he didn't want to hear a harsh word against Ginny or Severus' words made him feel like a child being berated—and he was more inclined to believe the latter, as it was a feeling he detested above almost all else—he felt a surge of defiance.

"Yes, Severus, I do, and you act as though it is something I would have just told her. The damn girl found out by herself; she's smarter than Granger sometimes." Severus scoffed and Draco felt that same surge of anger. Dear Merlin, could he really be feeling some Gryffindor sense of nobility? Because Ginny had said she would stand with him, now he felt like he had to…_defend_ her?

"That Granger and Weasley even chose to show up this year makes me question just how intelligent they really are, but that is neither here nor there. What did Ginny want?" The use of her first name through him for a moment before he realized it was to avoid confusion.

"She said she knew what it was like to have a secret so deep it was impossible to tell; that telling to the wrong person would mean almost certain death." As she had said it, he remembered, she had looked so determined. It was, he had realized, her way of making right the mistake she had made that had led her to come to this realization. He didn't know what Weas—Ginny's mistake had been, but whatever it was, it still haunted her.

But what could one sister-of-the-sidekick-of-the-Boy-Who-Lived have possibly done that was so inconceivably wrong?

"Severus, do you even know what she was talking about?" His eyes widened comically when his godfather's eyes glanced down. Severus never showed anything akin to submission or embarrassment, yet here he was, unable to look Draco in the eyes.

"Under command from the Dark Lord's diary, given to her by your father, Ginny Weasley opened the Chamber of Secrets your second year; it was a very well-kept secret." Silence. "Draco, shut your mouth." Still, silence. "Draco? Dear Merlin, are you broken, child? Speak!"

"She was the Heir?" Severus scoffed.

"Of course not. I just said she was under the Dark Lord's command. She was a weak, easily tricked first year with connections to Po—Harry. She was a prime target; I should have seen it and figured out a way to steal the damn thing away from her. It almost resulted in the two of them being killed in the Chamber." Ah, so there lay the reason for his sudden embarrassment.

Draco knew Severus enjoyed teaching—way, way, way deep down of course. He didn't enjoy being hated, but he enjoyed his craft and teaching it to the next generation. Draco, of course, would forever be his favorite student, although he was a tad biased—Draco was a Slytherin and his godson and ace at Potions on top of that. To know that two students had almost died, regardless of whom those students were, when he could have prevented it would have to have made the man sick to his stomach.

"Well, regardless," the blonde said, switching subjects. He hated to see his strong, proud godfather look…not strong or proud. "I believe she based her conclusions off the assumption that Harry and I had feelings for each other, which I believe she deduced off of Harry's attitude towards her when they were dating. She said she wouldn't tell anyone, and I don't think she's told Granger or Weaselby yet, or they'd be after my head—the two of them must be dreadful at secrets, especially Granger.

"Therefore, based on logic I mostly learned from you, I must conclude our secret is safe with the redheaded one, especially after what has been revealed here." Draco sat back in his armchair, feeling rather smug as what looked like concession crossed Severus' face. He knew he'd won.

"Very well; but I will keep an eye on her and her ragtag group of Gryffindors. I believe, with Harry gone, Granger and Weasley will not be eager to take the reins of the operation as they are too accustomed to playing backseat to Harry. Ginny, on the other hand, shows determination only surpassed by Harry himself. Mark me, they'll have a resistance formed by the end of the year." Draco surprised both himself and his godfather with a laugh and a true smile, one that hadn't been seen since their run-in with Harry outside the Leaky Cauldron.

"Let's hope."

* * *

**Snape:** Hope is for the weak!

**VampireAlchemist: **Oh shut it, you old bat.

**Snape:** I resent that. *cries*

**VampireAlchemist: **You'll get over it and live. Or I'll kill you; that'd solve the problem really nicely...

**Snape:** I, Severus Tobias Snape, am not afraid of you!

**VampireAlchemist: ***shows a fang*

**Snape:** S-s-sorry Mistress!

**Harry:** That's the Headmaster of Hogwarts? Scared of a stupid, good-for-nothing...

**VampireAlchemist: ***shows both fangs*

**Harry:** I mean...YOU should be Hogwarts Headmistress...Mistress.

**VampireAlchemist: **and...?

**Both:** Please Review?

**Ginny:** I finally got some actions! Oh, and by the way...

_Next Chapter: Of Camping & Hogwarts_


	7. Of Camping & Hogwarts

**A/N:** I'll keep this brief. I've officially moved into college and classes start Tuesday; expect further delays between chapters, but they should be updated sooner than they have in the past. My goal is to have this story finished by Christmas. I have tentative deadlines in my head for all my stories right now, and this one comes first!

Some of you may notice the timeline of my story and the real _Deathly Hallows_ do not match up. That is normal. Where the Final Battle took place in early May in the book, it will probably take place before Easter Break in my story...possibly in March. I'm not a fan of empty writing, but I don't want to add a whole lot of wildly different things (I don't want to just skip 2 months of stuff by making Harry camping and Hogwarts the same old things). It's a condensed plot line for a good reason, as you will see at the end.

What I have planned goes to a total of ten chapters so far, but I haven't planned for the ending yet. It will be between eleven and thirteen chapters (including an epilogue that is probably half the size of the normal chapters). This means, following this chapter, I need to write about three to five more normal chapters and one half chapter. I'm hoping to continue to deliver the same detail and writing readers have come to expect though. Considering I started this story two years ago, I'm surprised the writing style hasn't changed too drastically...

Also, I am well aware this is a more Hogwarts-centric chapter. That is because there are more people at Hogwarts right now. Harry is the only one camping and, therefore, while his POVs are normal length, he seems left out because I only tell the camping trip from one POV and not a lot happens to him. Conversely, Hogwarts has Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Draco, Severus and the things going on there. Please be patient; there will be a time when Harry takes up more of the story - like when he breaks into Gringotts' or returns to Hogwarts for the Final Battle and such.

Patience!

Well, so much for keeping that brief. Anyways, enjoy Chapter 7!

* * *

**Of Camping & Hogwarts**

* * *

"Can you believe that good for nothing son of a …"

"Ron!" He'd been pacing back and forth across the floor since they'd been ordered back to their dormitories. Professor McGonagall, still Deputy Headmistress by default, had performed her usual speech with far less gusto than usual. For the first years, still frightened near to death by Snape and his words at the Feast, it was just another round of "not what they expected". For everyone else, it was another reminder that the Dark Lord was winning.

But while Hermione's sharp intonation of his name would usually calm him down, he was wound up far too much for it to be of any use now.

"No, Hermione! That bastard is ruining Hogwarts!" Murmurs of agreement spread through the seventh-year boys' dormitories—the obvious choice for this meeting since boys could not enter the girls'. Aside from Ron and Hermione—and the other residents of the actual dorm—Ginny, Parvati, Lavender, the Creevey brothers, and an assortment of other students from the DA sat around the floor, careful to stay away from Ron's path. He was very close to actually wearing a hole in the floor.

"This is worse than when Umbridge and those Ministry idiots took over—at least we still had Harry when Dumbledore was gone!" Collin's statement was met with another chorus of agreement, though they were careful to stay quiet to avoid suspicion.

"Where is Harry, anyways?" This was the part Ron had not been looking forward to. Obviously, with their presence, they were the most likely people to know where Harry was. The students had already realized this, meaning the professors had considered it long before.

But how were they supposed to say they had no idea without breaking the hope of these people? Most of the students here were only third years and above; some of them understood the risks. Others were convinced Voldemort was like the man under the bed, ready to grab them the moment they turned out the lights. None of them had been alive during Voldemort's first reign, and if they had, it had only been a few months.

There were few parents in the British Wizarding Community that would actually tell their children details of the Dark Lord's first reign, though. Mrs. Weasley was part of the Order and she pounced on anyone who dared mention it to any of her children—even the ones who HAD been alive at the time.

But to tell these students, students as young as third years and as old as their classmates, they didn't know where Harry was, what he was doing?

It would be like saying he was as good as dead.

"Harry left his relatives' house over the summer before anyone—Light or Dark—could retrieve him," Hermione cut in, saving Ron from inserting his foot in his mouth. After seven years, she was able to identify these potentially hazardous situations. "He's been on his own with a mission given to him by Dumbledore before his death."

"And why aren't you with him?" Lavender, only beaten down slightly from the mess over the last few months, had still retained her very "Seers know best" air. Her tone clearly set Hermione on edge, and Ron had to restrain himself from hexing her very thoroughly. Making more enemies was not advisable right now, though when this was over, Ron didn't think Hermione would be able to restrain herself from a Jelly Legs Jinx here or there, and he certainly would not stop her.

"He wanted to make sure we were here to keep you lot safe, seeing as we've been dealing with this since first year." Hermione's eyebrows shot up at Ron's words; clearly, she hadn't expected something so brilliant to emerge from him, and he felt a stab that he couldn't classify as pride or embarrassment at that.

"Well—what's that?" Parvati, always quick to defend her friend, was cut off by a silver wisp floating through the window.

"Ron…isn't that…?" He nodded, watching as the wisp separated and the Gryffindors assembled in the seventh year boys' dormitories were given a show unlike one they'd ever seen.

Anyone who had been at the base of the Astronomy Tower the previous year knew what Harry's new Patronus was, or rather, what they were. The phoenix flew to the center of the room to perch on Ron's outstretched arm. It was unnecessary, of course, because it wasn't truly alive, but it was simply an instinctual movement.

He'd never touched a Patronus before. In fact, he'd only had to cast it during practice fifth year and had yet to do it again since. But the feeling of happiness that spread through him when the creature touched his arm was unlike anything he'd ever felt.

A Patronus took a single powerful memory or feeling of pure happiness and joy to create it; was he feeling Harry's happiness right now? It certainly wasn't his own; for months now he had felt locked away in Azkaban with every happy memory sucked out.

He looked up in time to see Prongs pass through the doorway, most likely to guard it, and Padfoot was sniffing each of the members sitting on the floor.

"Um, Hermione?" He got a little uncomfortable when the silver creature came up to sniff him after a turn.

"He's checking to make sure it's safe, Ron," she whispered with a soft smile as she bent down to bet the silver dog on the head. He could see in her facial expression that she felt the same thing he did when touching the phoenix—pure happiness…Harry's happiness. "He's keeping Harry safe," she whispered again, though this time was more in memory. Of course, even as a Patronus, Sirius was keeping Harry safe.

Then the phoenix opened its mouth.

_Ron, Hermione, and anyone else listening—_

_ Padfoot will have made sure everyone in the room is loyal to us; you can trust everyone in the room. Prongs is guarding the doorway—Albus will disappear at the slightest indication from him. I figured this was safe than sending a letter with Snape and the Death Eaters in charge at Hogwarts._

_ I'm safe and prepared, but I need your help; I need help from everyone in the room right now._

_ I'm on a mission from Dumbledore, and I'm getting close to completing it. There are some things I need to destroy, but some of them I can't get alone. One of them is at Hogwarts, but I don't know exactly what it is or what it looks like. I can only give you an idea._

_ Keep alert, and try to find Hufflepuff's cup or Ravenclaw's diadem. Hermione, I'm sure you already know both of those objects are said to have been lost forever. You-Know-Who found them—now we have to. Tell anyone you know and absolutely trust and ask for their help—after I've destroyed the other objects, I'm bringing the fight to Hogwarts, and I'll need that one._

_ Ron, Hermione, and Ginny—only your Patronus' can reach me where I am now. Be careful when sending messages, though—we cannot keep regular correspondence._

_ Good luck. _

Prongs and Padfoot trotted to the center of the room where they, and Albus, disappeared in a brilliant flash of white light.

There was silence in the room for a long moment before—

"What's a diadem?"

"What's so important about a sodding cup?"

Ron turned to Hermione and gave a brief nod; they were the only ones who knew exactly why these items were so necessary. Harry had left out the reason, meaning he didn't want anyone else knowing these were Horcruxes, but something he _had _said made the corners of Ron's mouth tick up in a smirk.

_Voldemort and Snape are going to get what's coming to them—Harry's close, and he's bringing the fight to Hogwarts._

* * *

"Bloody hell!" Muttering some rather brilliant swearwords, he'd probably exhausted his entire vocabulary of curse words before he found the bottle labeled 'Dittany'. He closed his hand around the vial, awkwardly due to chunk of his left arm that was now missing, then let loose another swear when he realized he could have summoned the vial from his expanded pack.

His escape had, unfortunately, not gone as gracefully as he had hoped. Then again, he was not a particularly graceful person, so it was to be expected.

_ Curses were being shot left and right, most of them aimed at Harry. Really, how did they expect him to win this battle for them if they kept trying to kill him and turn him in? But his years of dodging Death Eaters and hexes in the halls had kept his senses tuned and his shield charm very strong._

_ The grates of the Floos were being closed one at a time—very ineffective expect for dramatic increase—so he put on a burst of speed to make it to the end of the line before the grates could close. Just as he had set a foot into the Floo, though, a hand had grasped his left arm tightly as he was Disappparating._

_ The moment he'd felt that arm, he'd known not to arrive on the doorstep of Grimmauld, so he'd only Apparated to the corner, delivered a strong punch to his attacker's face, and Disapparated once more._

_ This time, he'd arrived in the Forest of Dean, where Dudley's Scouts group had once gone camping. It had been a family camping trip and, with Mrs. Figg unable to take Harry, he had gone along. The Dursleys hadn't minded as much considering they'd had someone to pitch the tents and cook the food, but it had not been Harry's idea of a good time._

_ Not that the Dursley's had enjoyed it either. Dudley and Uncle Vernon had certainly been very uncomfortable without air conditioning._

_ But it was empty and quiet, but for the sounds of the forest, and—once he'd set up the wards—it was safe. That was all that had mattered._

Now that his arm, which was thankfully not his wand arm, was as healed as he could make it at the moment, he had to set to making those wards. It was the first time he'd been so severely Splinched, and the heavy blood loss was making him dizzy, but the adrenaline pumping through him was making it much easier to focus.

"_Tempus."_ It didn't matter, he knew. Time of day would no longer serve him any purpose out here in the wild, at least not as much as _what_ day.

'9:45 PM September 1, 1997'

September 1…the Sorting would be done by now, students back in their beds. Ron and Hermione, all Gryffindors, would be persecuted come morning. With Death Eaters in charge of the school and the years of persecution Slytherins had faced at the hands of the Gryffindors, it could be no other way.

A long moment passed as he allowed himself to miss Hogwarts, the only true home he'd ever known, and the friends that had made it so. Ron and Hermione—he'd abandoned them, though he told himself it was for their safety. He could have used Hermione's intellect, surely. He could have used Ron's company, of course.

He could not have handled it if either of them was hurt because of the moments of stupidity and bravery he was so prone to.

With a sigh, knowing there was not much he could do without gathering more information, he flopped back into his bed and grabbed Albus' journal from his bag. He was almost finished and had yet to add a single note; Albus had, in a rare lucid moment, actually given him information without making him go around half-cocked. Granted, he still had to deal with finding where the damn things were, but Albus hadn't known that either.

_Harry—_

_ If you are following my instructions, then Miss Granger and Mister Weasley are not with you, wherever you may be. I do not pretend to know you well enough to predict where you will end up, but I know you will stay at least awhile in Grimmauld._

_ Wherever you may be now, I am sure you are aware where you will end. Hogwarts must play host to the Final Battle; with the forces both our sides have amassed, it is the natural pinnacle to the mountain we have all climbed to get here. It is also where, you know, you will find the final Horcrux. Or perhaps not._

_ Good Luck Harry._

…OR NOT? He had sounded so certain in previous entries that the final object would be found in Hogwarts! And he had a locket that he had to destroy, which, no doubt, would not be easy.

Frustrated, he angrily flicked past to the next page. It was blank.

"_Death be damned, I'll bring you back and kill you myself, Albus,"_ he muttered, incensed. The man was infuriatingly secretive, especially in death, and now he was confusing to the point of actually impeding progress.

In a rare accidental bout of magic, he sent the book flying at the wall.

In a not-so-rare moment of weakness, he wished Hermione and Ron were with him. At least he would have people to help get him through this. If Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and Draco could be with him, it would be perfect beyond comparison.

_But they're at Hogwarts…they're…at…Hogwarts._ And slowly, ever so slowly, the pieces clicked into place. _Ron and Hermione are at Hogwarts—_they_ can find the Horcrux!_ Albus hadn't meant the Horcrux wasn't there; he'd meant Harry wouldn't have to be the one to find it.

Of course, being Albus, he couldn't just _say _that.

Quickly, he conjured his Patronus, gave Prongs and Padfoot explicit instructions, and set to recording his message with Albus.

* * *

"Oh, Drake, wasn't Professor Snape perfect as Headmaster?" Pansy, as well as the entire Snake Pit, was aware that Severus and Draco had a very father-son relationship as opposed to godfather-godson. The Dark Lord had, after all, claimed Severus would be a better father for the blonde than Lucius, and while Draco didn't disagree, he had said it in front of his entire Inner Circle, which led to the Outer Circle and all Death Eater children being informed.

Now, people were kissing ass to Draco to get to Severus and the Dark Lord. Pathetic, really, considering they were supposed to be cunning Slytherins. If Draco could so easily discern their end goal, how could the plan be truly cunning?

Pansy had been the worst of all. She had no interest in being a Death Eater or getting into Voldemort's Inner Circle. From birth, she had been told that there was an arranged marriage between her and Draco. The formal contract had never been made; Pansy was only too happy to comply and, prior to recent events, Draco would have never gone against his Father's wishes.

So her simpering was primarily directed at Draco who was trying not to smack her across the face. Confident in her abilities, Pansy had never taken the time to get to know Draco, so she hadn't seen the minute changes in his personality over the summer.

Like how he was desperately trying to get out from her clinging hands without making a scene. Every second he spent this close to her felt like utter betrayal of the worst kind to Harry, even though the Gryffindor probably would have been laughing at Pansy's pathetic attempts to garner his affection.

"It's about time this place had a decent Headmaster, dedicated to _real_ magical learning." Blaise Zabini was leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, with his gaze leveled at Draco. The blonde didn't pretend to ignore the glint in Blaise's eyes. His "best friend" was in love with his "girlfriend". It was a classic cliché with one exception—he and Blaise were as arranged as friends as he and Pansy were arranged to be dating.

Sometimes, he wished Blaise would take Pansy off his hands. More than sometimes. Perhaps if he was a true Death Eater, obsessed with following Voldemort and the Pureblood name and that nonsense, Pansy would be the perfect bride.

She was pretty, well-versed in all Pureblood mannerisms, and could hold a semi-intelligent conversation. It was her values that Draco had no interest in hearing; she believed everything his father had told him since birth. She valued everything Harry, Severus, and now Draco, stood against. She supported everything Blaise supported, which is why they would have made such a great couple, if Draco's supposed arranged marriage wasn't in the way.

_Take her, Blaise._ The teen didn't take the hint.

"So, Drake," he shuddered, but she didn't notice. "What did Professor Snape want?"

Here it was, the moment he had been waiting for since the beginning of this rotten conversation. It was a chance to extricate himself from Pansy. If he played his cards right, he could get her to leave him alone for at least the rest of the night simply by implying that she was far too nosy for a good Pureblood wife, trying to figure out what was happening between two Death Eaters high in Voldemort's regard.

She would be suitably abashed enough to leave him alone, trying not to pry again for fear of retribution, and his night would be wonderful.

But he was a Slytherin and he could think far enough into the future to know how miserable he would be tomorrow when Pansy came simpering back to him, apologizing and trying to latch onto him with renewed enthusiasm.

So, to spare himself that excruciating pain, he shrugged.

"I wanted to start an apprenticeship after this year to be a Potions Master." It was well known throughout Slytherin that he was the best brewer, especially with a certified Potions Master as a godfather. It was also known he had no interest in being affiliated with the Ministry—too many idiots, he always stated. Being a Potions Master was logical and, therefore, a good cover.

It appeased the Slytherins listening—namely Blaise, Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle, Millicent, and Nott, as well as some younger years. First Years had already gone to bed, excited from their first day. Some, though, had shown apprehension; not every Slytherin wanted to be a Death Eater, especially the eleven-year-olds.

"Oh, Drake," he shuddered yet again; when would she notice? "You'll make such an excellent Potions Master!" He could feel his arm slowly start to lose circulation, so he stood very suddenly, making her lose her grip.

"I'm going to make rounds—Heads and Professors have to do it the first night before we start delegating. Pansy, you take from the second floor down and a quick run of the grounds. I'll take the third floor up through the Astronomy Tower."

"But Draco, you have so much more! Shouldn't we do it all together?"

"That would take far too long and be ineffective, Pansy. Besides, I figured I would take more to give you more relaxation time." The words tasted acidic, but Pansy accepted it as him taking care of her, so she didn't question it further. She tried to place a kiss on his lips, but he was already sweeping from the Common Room in a very Snape-like manner.

* * *

It was a gamble, she knew. From what Bill and Percy had said, the Heads and Professors were the only ones patrolling on the first night. Between Malfoy and Parkinson, Malfoy was more likely to take the upper half of the castle, considering his history with it. Still, there were still over a dozen teachers on patrol that could catch her, and she didn't have the Invisibility Cloak.

_"Lumos."_ She shrank behind the wall, peering out to see who was coming up the spiral staircase. If it was Malfoy or a Professor other than Snape, she'd be safe. If it was Snape or Parkinson, she was doomed.

But then she saw the shock of blonde hair and Slytherin lining on the robes and breathed a sigh of relief. She stepped from behind the wall and waited for him to get to the top of the stairs where he could see her.

"What is it with you Gryffindors and the Astronomy Tower?" She lifted an eyebrow and waited for an explanation, but he gave none, replying instead with, "I assume there's a reason we need to speak so soon after the train ride?"

"Yes, actually. We got a message from Harry and he said to pass it on to people we trust so they can help." As she spoke, she cast a Silencing Charm around their small area and sent her Patronus to keep watch at the base of the stairs.

"What are you doing? If they see yours, they'll know someone else was up here!" He knocked her wand aside, causing her happy memory to falter, before conjuring one himself.

"…Really?" It was a silvery ferret. He looked slightly sheepish, but sent her a glare, daring her to send her enormous horse back down.

"It's less conspicuous than yours, and if someone does see it, I can call it back and prove it's mine. Care to tell me how I can explain a horse one moment and a ferret the next?" And it was in that moment that Ginny realized she didn't know Draco as well as she thought she did on the train.

On the train, she had made very basic assumptions—he was in love with Harry (well who wouldn't be?) and he wasn't pure evil (just a stupid git). From her own experiences and his confirmation of her basic assumptions, she had stupidly concluded she knew everything she needed to about him.

She didn't realize how much bigger his secret was than hers.

Her first year, at eleven, she'd been so stupid—so naïve—and her mistake had been made through that naivety. True, she had petrified a few students here or there on orders from Tom Riddle's diary, but she was the sister of the best friend of the Boy-Who-Lived. Her family didn't have dangerous connections that could get her killed.

If Draco screwed up, he could get Snape, his parents, and his friends killed…very easily. Voldemort didn't exactly need a complicated spell to murder someone.

And it was that pressure that made him so good at what he did, hiding his secret. He had learned to take extra precautions, like preparing an alibi before it was even necessary, and how to be deceptively subtle. For a moment, she was in awe before forcing herself to go back to reality.

"I think I need to take lessons in Slytherin from you," she stated, omitting her apology. She knew him well enough to know that he considered that a sign of weakness and would just tell her to not do it again. He seemed to take her comment well, though, and let his facial features tick into an imitation of a smile before waiting for her to continue.

"Harry's trying to find something, more than one something actually. One of the things he's hunting is here, though, and he can't come here until he's found everything else." He stayed silent, as she knew he would, to let her finish. "He thinks if we can find it before he needs to come here, it will save precious time when the Final Battle does arrive."

"So what are we trying to find?" _We_. He accepted so readily; Harry was a pretty lucky guy. Then again, she knew Harry very well; Draco was pretty lucky as well.

"We don't know exactly—either Hufflepuff's chalice or Ravenclaw's diadem." She took a moment to savor the look of pure incredulity on Draco's face.

"Weas—Ginny, you know those items are as lost to time as Slytherin's locket and Gryffindor's sword?"

"You mean the sword Harry pulled from the Sorting Hat to save me your second year or the locket he and Dumbledore retrieved at the end of last year?" She didn't mention that the locket was a fake; they hadn't exactly put up Silencing Charms when they were talking and Ginny had gotten very good at listening in on her brothers' conversations.

Throughout her fifth year, she'd learned about Horcruxes, what Harry was hunting…pretty much anything he'd told Ron and Hermione. Actually, if it weren't for her, more people would probably know. She'd sent subtle hexes at anyone attempting to listen in; they didn't seem to realize they were a hot topic of conversation, which meant everyone wanted to know what _their_ conversations revolved around.

"Okay, so Harry has good luck in finding lost items. Why does he think one of the other ones is here?" Here, Ginny shrugged.

"If I was to guess, Dumbledore told him something. It's what usually gets him to do most of what he does." Draco had to concede that point; Severus' orders usually dictated a lot of his own actions.

"Do we know what any of them look like?"

"No."

"Any idea where to start?"

"No."

"So I should look the other way if a bunch of Gryffindors start wandering around, poking into hidden passageways muttering, _"Not here either"_?" She suppressed a giggle at that.

"Yes."

"Right; you'll let me know if anything else pops up?"

"Naturally."

"Right then. Since classes haven't started, I won't take points and give a detention." She started to respond that he was a pompous git, but she saw the wink and the smirk and realized he was joking. Draco—joking—was going to take a lot of getting used to. "Night, Ginny."

"Night, Draco."

He said he'd walk her to her dorms to make sure she wasn't caught again, so she didn't have to worry about sneaking through the corridors.

* * *

"_Diffindo!"_

_ "Reducto!"_

_ "Sectumsempra!"_

After blasting the locket several times, Harry finally gave up. With a cringe from the sound of the soul scratching like nails on a chalkboard, he tucked it into his satchel, as close to the bottom as he could. He wrapped it in his Gryffindor scarf—insult to injury, he smirked—and hid it under another pile of clothes. If it wouldn't respond to an _Accio_, the likelihood of someone actually getting to it was slim. He shrank the pack and placed it in his pocket.

* * *

"There must be some mistake." It was being whispered across the Great Hall the next morning as Time Tables were handed out. DADA was gone, replaced by DA, and it did not stand for Dumbledore's Army this time.

The older students knew, though, it was no mistake. Hogwarts was not Hogwarts anymore, and that meant training students to be Voldemort's minions. As if on cue, half a dozen Death Eaters strode through the doors of the Great Hall as if they owned it and seated themselves on either side of Snape at the Heads Table.

"Look at that pompous git," Ron muttered, clearly itching to throw an Unforgiveable at the man in Dumbledore's chair. But Hermione was already looking at the "pompous git." He looked no more excited to be sitting there than she did to be sitting before him. Her eyes widened when she saw his left hand flick and clench, though no wand appeared in it.

She didn't dare share her opinion with Ron; he couldn't keep a secret like this. It was much the same reason she didn't share her opinion on Harry's sexuality either. She wasn't certain she was right, and speculation could lead to trouble, especially if Ginny hadn't suspected anything.

While everyone was hunting for a Horcrux, Hermione would be testing her own knowledge of Muggle psychology. And, naturally, hunting for the Horcrux.

* * *

September passed. Quickly, slowly, there wasn't really a definition. It just passed. There were no visits to Hogsmeade—the Dark Lord did not want them out and about in a large, all-magic town. It would have been far too easy for Harry to sneak in under an Invisibility Cloak and round up his little group. It also would have provided time for the students to have fun.

It was not acceptable.

Students and professors alike looked upon him with nothing less than pure loathing. Slytherin, of course, was an exception. As was Hermione Granger.

Severus Snape had not made it nearly twenty years as a spy for the Light side without managing to become very aware of his surroundings. Since the morning his "fellow" Death Eaters had begun taking up posts at Hogwarts, she had been surveying him. If he had not noticed her being so careful about it, he would have cursed her for being a threat.

If ever there had been a time when the Final Battle seemed imminent, it was now. With all the secrets, disguises, and tricks everyone had hidden from one another, it was only a matter of time before they all came out. It would be a revelation of one of these secrets that would bring to light the others, causing an unraveling of one after the other.

Granger seemed to know about him. Perhaps her past encounters with Draco would keep her off his trail, but not for long.

Weasley knew nothing.

Ginny knew about Draco and, most likely, himself as well.

He and Draco were trying to keep hold of their secrets from the people who could truly hurt them, and that number was far too high to begin listing off every name. It was, however, safe to say that Voldemort, Lucius, and the future Death Eaters of Slytherin were the top of that particular list.

Harry was somewhere in the wild, trying to finish everything Albus had set him with. When the previous Headmaster had first told Severus what Harry was supposed to do, he had not seen a problem with it. Find a locket, a ring, a cup, kill Voldemort's snake, and find out what the other item was. The last task was probably going to be the most difficult.

Then Albus had explained more thoroughly, and Severus wondered if they hadn't been too optimistic. Harry Potter was smarter than he had given credit over the last seven years, but to do all this with only a book and Albus' words to guide him? He wasn't even supposed to tell Granger and Weasley? Even Harry had to run out of luck eventually; his father certainly had.

Add to that the fact that Granger, as everyone in and out of Hogwarts knew, was the brains behind the trio, and Harry was going to have to put to work the mind Severus had just realized the boy had.

And then he would have to stop thinking with his heart.

_He will have to perform the Killing Curse._

When Albus had spoken those words, he'd felt his blood run cold. In truth, it made sense. Voldemort's soul had to be killed, and there was no way to simply poison or drown it. There would be protections against spells and weapons so of course _Avada Kedavra_ was logical. But it certainly was not humane, and there was nothing to suggest it would even be possible.

Harry did not know how to cast the Killing Curse, and the chance that he would figure it out on his own was not high.

But that was Harry's task for now. Severus' was to keep Draco and himself alive and follow the Dark Lord's orders for running this school. This had included eliminating useless subjects like Divination and Muggle Studies. Defense Against the Dark Arts had been shortened to just Dark Arts, much to the chagrin of the three other houses. Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, and Herbology were centered more on the darker aspects—certainly no more Healing Potions.

Quidditch was canceled. Students walked from class to class in militaristic blocks. Death Eaters cursed students that fell out of line—even the first years. Only Slytherins were spared, something that made them very overconfident. If he didn't think another student would be blamed, he would have had Draco send some hexes at a few of his fellow Slytherins to knock them down a little bit.

He entered his office after another long day and a dinner where students were trying to avoid his gaze where a silver ferret rested on his desk. It took a look around to assess that Severus was alone and opened its mouth.

_"We need to meet."_

* * *

Over the last month, it had gotten harder and harder to sneak away and hunt for the Horcruxes. They weren't allowed to wander off and they didn't have the Invisibility Cloak or the Marauder's Map. Ron and Hermione looked like they wanted to do something, but couldn't. Ginny couldn't help but scoff; hadn't these been Harry's best friends? Who had been helping him sneak out for seven years? Certainly not them.

Perhaps they had done it in the interest of adventure or keeping their best friend safe, but whatever it was that had prompted them before had certainly fallen away in favor of being ground down a little more every day. The worst part was the amount of students looking to them; they were the closest things left to Harry in the castle, and they appeared to be losing hope. It was a morale-loss of the highest kind, and Ginny wanted to scream every time she saw a few more first years hang their head in defeat.

Ginny for her part, was checking out books. She'd thought Hermione would have done this by now, but the girl looked like she was slowly being worn down every day. When punishments were handed out, Muggleborns usually got them first. But Ginny knew what was at stake, more so than the others, and it—as well as Draco's perseverance—encouraged her to push through the hexes and curses.

She was, after all, the only one who knew about Draco—and probably Snape. She'd been suspecting that one for a while.

They'd spread the word to everyone they could trust—including Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws—but no one had seen any sight of either item and they certainly couldn't think of where to start looking. It was like trying to find a needle in a barn. A barn with secret passageways that disappeared and reappeared at will with guards at every turn.

She opened a book, one of a stack of ten, and began reading under **Rowena Ravenclaw**.

"_Her mother married into the Ravenclaw family, though her father died shortly after their marriage. Not much is known about her except that she ran away from Hogwarts when she was very young. Rumors circulated, but none were ever proven. Some say she eloped with someone her mother disapproved of. While at Hogwarts, she was pursued by the Baron of Slytherin, though she spurned his advances. Others believe she left in pursuit of more knowledge, eager to follow in her mother's footsteps. Some say she stole her mother's diadem—said to make the wearer more intelligent—in hopes of surpassing her mother. The diadem has not been seen since the time of the Ravenclaw ladies."_

Ginny was jerked from the passage by the word diadem and looked to read the heading again—Helena Ravenclaw. Rowena's daughter? She continued.

"_Where she went after running and the rest of her story has been left to speculation since then. Her ghost still haunts Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and she is known as…"_

"…the Grey Lady." She sent a message to Draco.

* * *

It was certainly a different location than usual. Normally he had meetings with Gryffindors in the Astronomy Tower. Why Ginny wanted to meet all the way on the West side of the castle, a good ten minute sneak for her, was beyond him.

Belatedly, Draco realized he should have sent a reply offering to pretend to catch her out of bed and escort her so she didn't end up caught by a Death Eater. Then he dismissed the thought; he had been on the wrong end of her hexes. There was no doubt any Death Eater that caught her would be blasted with a very strong _Reducto_ or Bat-Bogey Hex.

He turned, wand raised, at the sound of a scuffle outside the door of the classroom they were meeting in.

"…to maintain an image but Merlin do you have to hold on so damn tight?" The door was wrenched open and Draco sighed in relief as a shock of red hair came flying through the door, followed by a flurry of black robes and the shutting door. "Merlin, Snape, take it easy."

"Miss Weasley, are you aware of just how much danger you put yourself in tonight?" Draco remained quiet, wondering how the girl would compose herself in front his godfather.

"I am, but I am also aware of the danger we all risk if Harry doesn't find the Horcruxes—and I know how to find one." That had both Slytherins eating out of the palm of her hand; even Draco, loathe though he was to admit it, was impressed at her ability to get straight to the point.

"Which one?"

"Where?" Ginny looked like she was having difficulty figuring out which question to answer first.

"I don't know where; I said I knew _how_ to find it—the diadem. The Grey Lady."

"Ravenclaw's Ghost?"

"Daughter of Ravenclaw to be precise; she's the one who stole it over a thousand years ago."

"That is why you were demanding the meeting be here." Draco looked at Severus in confusion, but Ginny seemed to understand his statement.

"I figured it would help if we didn't have to go far to get to her. Problem is I don't know the password."

"Neither do I, Miss Weasley."

"Excuse me, but why exactly are we meeting here?" For a moment, he restrained himself from laughing; both Severus and Ginny wore identical expressions of irritation, though they would probably never admit to looking anything alike. It almost made his (most assuredly) stupid question seem worth it.

"The entrance to Ravenclaw Tower is merely across the hall, Draco. The Grey Lady tends to…" Draco had never heard his godfather interrupted by anyone who valued their life, so he was surprised when Severus was cut off. When he realized who it was, though, he understood—ghosts do not exactly value their lives.

"DO NOT CALL ME THAT!" The three living occupants of the room backed away slowly, not certain how to handle having their intended target seek them out.

Strangely, there were no paintings of the Founders in Hogwarts. If there were, they were not out in the open. What Draco knew about their appearances, he knew from the Chocolate Frog cards he'd collected when he was younger. The pearly-white ghost, floating towards them in a menacing manner with a perturbed look on her face was clearly related to Rowena Ravenclaw, though, if those cards were remotely similar.

Her dark hair was curled and pulled back, and despite her expression, her facial features weren't altogether unpleasant. Right now, though, what she looked like did not matter. What she knew was what they were interested it, although she knew a fair bit, being the daughter of Rowena Ravenclaw, so they would certainly have to narrow that down. Hopefully, they would not have to answer any riddles.

"We're sorry, Helena. We didn't mean to upset you," Ginny stepped in. He noticed Severus take a small step backwards and suppressed a snort; let the women talk.

"No one _means_ to upset me," Helena sniffed, still giving off a disdainful air. "They simply call me the Grey Lady because they cannot be bothered to learn my name. The Ravenclaws are the only ones kind enough to ask my name and call me by it."

"Helena, we…we need your help."

"You seek my mother's diadem." Draco's eyes widened; had she been listening in on their conversation? He tried to recall if they'd said anything else that might have offended her; this would be a long arduous search—already had been—without her help.

"Yes…"

"And what would you seek to use it for? Improve your intelligence as I did?" Her tone implied she was not going to help, but her face—her eyes were searching Ginny's.

And Ginny froze. Draco saw her start to tremble, her fists clenching; she didn't know what to say. She didn't want to irritate the Ravenclaw ghost further, but she couldn't stay quiet if there were going to get what they needed from her.

"We want to destroy it." Both Ginny's blue eyes and Helena's dull ones turned to him. He had to ignore Ginny, though; she looked as though she was going to kill him—or seriously injure him at the very least. But this was where he proved why being a Slytherin wasn't all terrible.

Gryffindors, brave and courageous though they were, were surface speakers. That is, they did not dig deep enough into a person's actions or behaviors to notice certain nuances. Hufflepuffs were far worse in that regard. They took things at face value, believing in the better side of people and foolishly believing that, were something wrong, someone would simply say it.

There were, of course, exceptions to the rule. Harry and Ginny for example—even Granger on occasion—were known to be able to read certain things about people that their friends had a hard time discerning. That both of them had seen through Draco's façade was clear evidence of that.

Ravenclaws were interested in knowledge and, therefore, the truth. Lying would not be conducive to their conversation and Draco, being truly Slytherin in all the ways that mattered in this particular instance, was able to tell that after observing Helena's interaction with Ginny.

The sneer in her expression had not appeared when Helena spoke of her own actions or when saying _you_ in reference to Ginny, Draco, and Severus. It had, however, been instantaneous when she mentioned the artifact they had so ardently been searching for. Helena's disdain for the object was clear; she _wanted _it destroyed, and she wanted the truth. These were two things the group could easily give.

"Really?" If she didn't look so dignified, Draco believed she might actually have her eyebrow raised. There was hope in her eyes, though, clear despite her clouded figure.

"The way it is now—it would be better off destroyed, wouldn't you say?" She sniffed somewhat haughtily, but didn't respond. "If we find it, we'll destroy it." There was a strong promise in his words.

"I stole the diadem," she whispered. "I sought to make myself cleverer, more important than my mother. I ran away with it. She never admitted it was gone, pretended she had it all those years—not even the other Founders knew. When she fell ill, she sent someone to find me, desperate to see me one last time. The man she sent, she knew, would not rest until he found me; when he found me we were both put to rest." Her story ended with a hollow laugh, one the three living people in the room didn't imitate. She had told them how it ended up "lost to time" and how she ended up dead. The one part of her story she had left out was _where_ she ran.

"But you hid it from him, didn't you? Did you think he sought it, rather than you?" Helena stopped laughing and Draco's confidence went down a notch; he had to keep her in a good mood. It was the first lesson in artfully extracting information; keep your source happy.

"The Baron of Slytherin always made his desire for me very clear. He emulated everything Slytherin stood for—Ravenclaw intelligence was not something he sought." Restraining the urge to say something about how _Slytherin_ didn't imply _lack of intelligence_ as Ginny was probably thinking, Draco waited. Helena continued. "No, when he tracked me down, in that Merlin-forsaken Forest in Albania, he was after me. My Mother told no one about my thievery; just of my disappearance."

Albania. There were rumors among the Inner Circle—when they dared speak about their Lord in anything less than praise—that the Dark Lord, after his defeat by the fifteen-month-old Harry Potter, had hidden in Albania to escape the Aurors. It simply couldn't be a coincidence.

With what he knew about Horcruxes, and that was very little, if the Dark Lord had concealed a Horcrux in Albania, he would have used it to return earlier than their Fourth Year, which meant he hadn't left it there. Perhaps there was a chance Helena knew of the new location as well. She certainly hadn't denied it yet.

"You told him this story, didn't you? The one who defiled the Diadem?" A single pearly white tear rolled down her cheek and Draco wondered at the urge to comfort her. How does one comfort a ghost?

"He was so flattering, so understanding. He knew what it was like to want to surpass the expectations of everyone else, to be more than everyone else said you could be. I sought to be cleverer than my Mother; he sought…other power. But he was Slytherin! Power to them is what Knowledge is to us or Loyalty is to Hufflepuff or Courage is to Gryffindor! I did not think it was anything dangerous…" Her voice rose and Draco realized she was trying to rationalize her actions all those years ago.

And in that moment, Draco decided he never wanted to be a ghost. Helena had been alive thousands of years, seen countless evils. Morgan le Fay, Grindelwald, and now Voldemort. But to know she had a hand in Voldemort's rise to power, his inability to die? And she was unable to do anything, afraid that if she told someone about the Diadem, they would simply take it despite the evil it housed.

"You're not the first one he's tricked." Behind him, Ginny spoke up. Apparently, she'd finally found her voice.

"You're the one who opened the Chamber five years ago and petrified the Gryffindor Ghost." Ginny didn't respond; he assumed she nodded.

Helena seemed to deliberate for a moment and nodded.

"I will not tell you precisely where it is. I will only tell you it is where the Lost Things are." Behind him, he heard a sharp intake of breath and turned to Ginny. Her eyes were wide and, for a moment, he thought she was having some sort of attack. When he turned around, though, all he saw was Helena simply disappearing into the wall behind her.

* * *

"I will not tell you precisely where it is." Ginny felt her heart plummet at those words. Either Helena was going to tell them nothing, or she was going to tell them just enough to keep them searching. By telling Voldemort—Tom Riddle—where she had hidden the Diadem originally, Helena had started this. Even after Ginny trying to sympathize, she was still going to be a damn Ravenclaw.

She'd never used that as an insult before now.

"I will only tell you it is where the Lost Things are." Lost th—_Oh my Merlin…_ Draco turned to glare at her, but Helena was already disappearing.

"Dammit, Ginny! We could have talked to her a little longer and figured out where the damn thing is!" She could have smacked him—men were so thick. How could Harry have fallen in love with this one was beyond her.

"We already know where it is, Draco."

"Yeah, where Lost Things are…" To her right, she noticed a movement and remembered the Headmaster was standing beside her. With a glance, she noted his expression was as irritated as Draco's. Were all men idiots? Even Harry could be dim sometimes, but never this…well…nevermind.

"Draco Malfoy, you of all people should know where the Room of Lost Things is. Merlin knows you spent enough time there last year."

"Weas…" He trailed off and she saw the exact moment understanding dawned. "Do you have any idea how huge that room is?"

"I guess you're going to be overseeing a lot of detentions," she muttered, not looking forward to how many rules she was going to have to break to receive enough detentions to find the damn thing. She also was not looking forward to lying to her housemates about _why_ she was receiving detention on purpose.

"Will one of you two dunderheads explain precisely what you're talking about?" Only after that explicit from Snape did Ginny realize she and Draco had been prattling on like best friends. If they spent any more time together, they'd be like the twins, finishing each other's sentences.

"It's the Room of Requirement, Severus. Where the Vanishing Cabinet is." This time, she simply couldn't help it. She tried, very hard.

But when Snape muttered a curse as realization dawned precisely how large that room was, she lost all control. She nearly busted a gut laughing.

* * *

It was late when he opened his eyes to see a silver ferret bouncing up and down on his chest.

"Well you look familiar," he muttered, grabbing his glasses. "I'd have loved to see Draco's face the first time he conjured you." Secretly, he also was curious what memory conjured the rodent in the first place.

"_Harry—_

_ The Diadem is at Hogwarts in the Room of Requirement. Ginny and I just need to find it. Oh—Ginny figured it out—the Diadem and us. Hope you're still alive. You're no good to me as a boyfriend if you're dead._

_I love you. Draco."_

He was still stuck on the "Ginny figured it out" part. Apparently, she was cleverer than he'd thought, and he already thought she was pretty clever. He always wondered at the Weasleys…Bill and Percy were notably academically clever, Charlie and the Twins were clever at something in particular, and Ginny—well, she was far too Slytherin to not call clever. Ron had his moments, of course, but he wondered if Ron felt overshadowed and decided if he couldn't be as good, he would stick to being good enough.

Ginny took the opposite road, making her own path—she was by far the most feared of the Weasley children, probably because she had inherited her mother's temper.

Which would most likely be turned on Harry during their next discussion. He gulped hard.

But then he realized what the rest of the message had said and nearly sent up sparks from his wand in excitement. It had been just over a month and Ginny had not only discovered his secret boyfriend, but discovered the location of the Horcrux. The Room of Requirement.

_"Bloody hell,"_ he muttered. They'd be looking for weeks, maybe even by the time he challenged Vo—the Dark Lord to the Final Battle. He'd overheard someone at the Ministry mention the Dark Lord's true name becoming a taboo…it wasn't worth being caught just to defy the madman. That time would come soon enough.

Satisfied with the status of the wards around his tents, he was about to fall asleep when he heard a twig crack just outside. It wasn't abnormal, he had realized after a few weeks of planning his next strategy—animals came through this area a lot—but then he heard voices. Then he heard his name.

_"Potter…"_

* * *

By October 31st, Ginny Weasley had officially racked up the most detentions ever recorded in student history for one month. Between the 1st and 31st, she had a detention every night and in the mornings on weekends. Admittedly, it was probably their Gryffindor status during Gryffindor times that had kept the Marauders, the Twins, and the Golden Trio out of as much trouble as she currently found herself in—a Gryffindor in Slytherin times was not as subject to favoritism unless McGonagal herself was the one to catch the misdeed.

The rest of the students, though worried for their comrade's wellbeing, were pleased at her methods. She could hardly tell them that some of the ideas had come from Snape and Draco, though. Not-so-discretely attacking Slytherins in view of Snape wasn't subtle, which was what she needed. She didn't want someone else getting in trouble.

She also blew up a cauldron or two, misdirected a few charms and spells in DA, Transfiguration, and Charms. She placed bait for certain creatures in the robes of some mocking Slytherins. Luckily, Hagrid had been the one to give that imparticular detetion.

Eventually, she had racked up enough bad reputation points in the first week of October, and enough nightly detentions, to garner the Headmaster's attention who, in his desire to teach her a lesson, agreed to oversee her detention with his favorite Head Boy. The idea, of course, was that by the end of the month, she would never be able to think the word trouble again.

The real idea was that the three of them were going to search the Room of Requirement from top to bottom, and they had a full month to do it.

"I hope you realize how very not-pleased my House mates are," she groused from one side of the room. The first night of modified detention, they had drawn lines in easily-erasable wand lines—fluorescent pink—to section the room into squares. There were just over 1,000 squares, each one 100 square feet, and, upon completion of a completely thorough search, each square was marked off with a large 'X'.

Now, only a week into their three week period (her first week of detention had, in fact, been detentions before Snape had been brought in on the endeavor), they had only successfully searched 200 squares, and Ginny was not looking forward to the extra detention she would have to earn to finish searching. Severus and Draco could not do it alone without seeming suspicious when they disappeared.

If she wasn't supposed to be getting in trouble, though, she'd have to sneak out at night somehow.

"Maybe they would be more pleased if they realized what they _didn't_ have to do every night of detention," Draco shot back, letting loose a curse when he cut himself on some broken object in the corner. They had found everything from photographs and books, to letters and paintings. They had found busts and cabinets, old silver tea sets and chandeliers, and enormous stacks of chairs, piled one on top of the other.

Draco had, in a moment of rage and despair, set fire to one of those stacks and they had sat and watched in burn for a moment, all feeling the same hopelessness. Without a word spoken, they had returned to searching, simply placing an 'X' over the squares containing only stacks of chairs. It had eliminated at least 10 squares, though they had flown to the top of each stack with some of the brooms they had found to ensure the diadem was not atop any of the topmost chairs.

"It's not like we have a hope of winning the House Cup this year anyways," she continued, not really directing her words at anyone in particular. By now, Draco and Severus had gotten used to her complaints. It was, she knew they realized, her way of pretending Harry was still here. Draco was his boyfriend and Ron and Hermione were his oldest friends, his first friends. But Ginny and Harry shared a bond. It wasn't as deep as the one he shared with Draco, and it was different from the brotherly or sisterly one he shared with his friends.

She couldn't imagine a life married to him—before she found out he was gay or now—but she couldn't imagine her life without him. It was hard to explain.

And then, just like that, she felt a tear slip down her cheek and fall on the '1001 Positions You Know You're Dying To Try' book on top her pile. He was okay, she knew he was, but not seeing him was becoming unbearable. She just wanted to see him, talk to him, if only for a few seconds. It wasn't like he was another brother—after only a few years, she felt closer to him than she ever would be to anyone else—family, friend, or future husband.

She hadn't looked up from her pile, and she stayed there for a few minutes, unable to see through the tears in her , without warning, arms slipped around her waist and she was being…hugged. Considering the only two other occupants in the room, it was bound to be awkward no matter who was comforting her at the moment, but she nevertheless turned in Draco's arms and continued crying into his robes.

"He's okay, Ginny, he's okay…" And she didn't whisper _I know_ back because she knew this was as much for him as it was for her. He was trying to comfort himself as much as he was helping her.

"He can't die." And they both knew that three truer words were never spoken. To everyone else in the world, whether they knew it or not, Harry Boy-Who-Lived Potter was to be the Savior of the World, but they would still fight back. Regardless of what the sheeple seemed to believe, they knew it was foolhardy to place all hope in Harry's hands, and there would still be opposition to the Dark Lord's rule. To them, there would be no reason to oppose Voldemort without Harry by their side.

Snape continued to work from the other side of the room, leaving the teens to comfort one another in peace without heckling them, and Ginny began to realize the man wasn't as cold as the Gryffindors had made him out to be. After everything was said and done, Ginny found herself promising to herself, she would defend him and his actions in any and all trials.

A few more tears fell before she gently pushed herself away from Draco and, giving a small sniff, let a smile slowly spread.

"I guess we'd better get back to it?" He nodded, his own face lightening up a bit. His face didn't show any signs of tears, but that was from habit, she knew. Malfoys were notorious for their lack of emotion in public, as most Pureblood families were. Despite his aversion to the rest of many of his families teachings, that was one he would most likely never break.

Odd that someone so well-versed in outward emotional appearances would attract someone who wore his heart on his sleeve as Harry often did, although Harry had become more discrete with his emotions in the past year or so.

Ginny looked back to her pile as Draco moved back to the other side of the room. She couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up when she realized the book at the top of the pile—it was no surprise this book had been hidden.

* * *

A full week of this nonsense and he was starting to hate the color pink. This room needed a very thorough cleaning…and by cleaning, he meant everything in it should be destroyed, an opinion he had made very clear when he set fire to the chair stack only a few nights ago. As if keeping appearances up wasn't hard enough, now he and Severus had to pretend to oversee a detention every night and come out of it acting like they'd "Tortured Weasley into submission".

Ron Weasley and the rest of the Gryffindors were giving him dirtier looks by the day. He shuddered to think of what Ginny had thought of to keep them from getting suspicious, knowing already that getting on their good side would be near impossible when this was all over. Fortunately, one well-placed look from Harry would have them all begrudgingly accepting his presence—after they searched their Boy-Who-Lived for signs of a Love Potion.

"Bloody _fucking_ hell!" It was common for broken items to crop up in the room; people, it seemed, would rather hide their broken mirrors and glass objects than properly dispose of them. That said, it was also common for one of them to cut themselves on a piece of broken glass, as Draco just had.

He watched in fascination as a long line of red spread from the tip of his finger to his wrist, wondering at his reaction. Normally—and this had happened more than once in the last week—he summoned a bandage, wrapped it tight, and continued working. Time was, after all, of the essence.

But for a moment, he couldn't think of anything except Harry. Harry, Merlin-knew-where, fighting alone for the rest of the world. He wanted to curse his sentimentality—Malfoys didn't show emotion, he berated himself in a mocking tone that sounded suspiciously like Lucius—but if he was honest with himself, he hadn't been acting like a Malfoy for a long time now. Falling in love, for starters.

Befriending a Weasley for another, despite her very Slytherin tendencies.

Speaking of Weasley, a glance at her told him she had stopped as well. He noticed the tear slip down her cheek and realized exactly why they got along so well in that moment. It wasn't their personalities that had brought them together, though they were very similar (not that they would ever admit it). It wasn't some shallow enjoyment of Quidditch or some other vain topic—it was Harry.

Through Lucius, he had heard what had happened second year—Ginny Weasley had opened the Chamber of Secrets for the memory of Voldemort and disrupted Hogwarts for months. Harry had saved her.

Because of her idiot of a brother, Ginny and Harry had been intimately connected for six years now—romantically for a brief time—but in a way few people, even Draco, could understand. He didn't pretend to understand their relationship—he knew it was nothing like the one he and Harry had—but he knew it was deeper than mere words could explain.

And she was hurting as much as he was.

He came up behind her, leaving his unfinished section in favor of offering her what little comfort he could. The words he whispered were as much for his own benefit as hers, a fact he knew she hadn't missed. But then, after only a few moments, it was over.

Draco knew they would never speak of what had happened—with one another, with Snape, with Harry—but nor would they ever forget it.

"_Fuck!"_ Moments later, he'd slit the finger of his other hand open. Malfoys always match.

* * *

"Lucius, why have you disrupted me without cause?" Trying not to grimace as his knees touched the floor, his hands reaching for the hem of his _Master's_ robe, Lucius appeared the image of the loyal servant in every way. Of course, he also appeared to be a less-than-favored servant—Severus no longer had to grovel when in the Dark Lord's presence, as Lucius had once not had to. He simply had to bow to show subservience, but was allowed to remain standing to show his higher position in the ranks.

Lucius hoped to change that.

"My Lord, you are most gracious to hear me despite my disruption, but I come bearing regrettable news; I have heard you believe there to be a traitor among the ranks. From school, Draco has sent news and information which I believe to point out the traitor." The moment he had said traitor, Lucius had to stumble backwards to keep his forehead from making contact with the Dark Lord's foot as the madman stood in anger.

"Who? And why would your son not come directly to me with this news; leaving Hogwarts is surely not as difficult as it was with Dumbledore as Headmaster."

"He wanted me to be sure; he did not want to believe the person these letters implicated." From his robes, Lucius removed the letters he knew to be forged. He had, after all, forged them himself. He also held out the customary letter that had been sent from Hogwarts over the summer to inform Draco what materials he would need. The letter had been written in Severus' hand rather than McGonagal's to further enforce the idea of exactly who was in charge of the school this year.

"Who, Lucius?"

"My Lord, I fear it is Severus. I feel it is possible Severus informed Dumbledore of the Vow he made with my wife and was ordered by the man to carry it out to continue as a spy and protect Potter. The letters are written in his hand; they match the one sent by Severus to the students of Hogwarts."

He tried to remain stoic; a smirk would surely incite doubt in his words by his Lord. The Dark Lord went from emotionless as he read the letters to furious to eerily calm.

"Give me your arm, Lucius. I believe it is time to call a meeting."

* * *

"…Potter, we're supposed to call Lestrange, not the Ministry. He's got to be alive when we bring him in, understand?" Harry hesitantly poked his head out of his tent, secure in the knowledge that he had made his barriers properly. On the edge of his barrier, three men trekked past, one carrying a girl over their shoulder. He couldn't see, but the way her arms seemed bent oddly and her body was limp, he hazarded a guess she was either dead or unconscious.

For her sake, he hoped it was the first. What awaited her if it was the second was not something he felt he could stomach.

"Why?"

Harry snapped his attention back to their words rather than their appearances. It was the sound of his own name that had, after all, brought his attention to them in the first place.

"Because she's offering three times the reward. My guess is she wants to deliver him to the Dark Lord, but it's hardly my business. All's I know is we're to bring him to Malfoy Manor," Harry sucked in a sharp breath, but the wards muffled it from their hearing, "if we catch him."

"Probably let the Malfoy boy rough him up before handing him to the Dark Lord; heard they didn't get on so well at school. Malfoy's probably right enjoying himself being first to the Headmaster for a change." Harry didn't like the way the men were saying Draco's name…like they didn't particularly like him. Like they wanted to rough _him_ up.

Harry knew simply from being in that position that not a lot of people liked Draco and his family—they were too closely affiliated with Dark Arts to not be considered partially responsible for the Dark Lord's current rise. But even people on the Dark side hated Malfoy's, too—especially Draco—because they were high within the Dark Lord's favor. It was a lose-lose scenario.

Restraining himself from cursing them for talking about Draco, he came back inside the tent; at least now he knew how to get into Malfoy Manor if he needed to. Moments later, his forehead felt like it was going to burst as he found himself in the middle of a Death Eater meeting. He recognized the forms of Draco and Severus instantly and struggled to control the pain enough to listen in.

* * *

It was nearing ten o'clock when he felt it. With only ten minutes left of the customary _detention_, he was getting ready to tell the two students to go back to bed when his forearm lit up.

After twenty years "in the service", he knew the different calls. This time, Voldemort was insanely pleased—he had to wonder at the cause. There were, after all, quite a few things to be happy about.

Catching Potter. Finding whatever it was he was hunting down. Catching the traitor…the last one scared him more than he cared to think about.

He heard Draco hiss and a few items hit the floor as the Weas—Ginny ran over to ask if he was alright. He had tried to stop calling her Weasley as it was brought too many memories of the Twins or her idiot brother to mind. She was proving herself in many ways, getting a month's worth of detention at the risk of raising irritation from her enemies and friends not the least of which.

"Draco."

"I know, Severus. Ginny go back to your room; I think detention is canceled for tonight." Severus stood at the door, waiting for his godson. He could not figure out the relationship in the triangle of Draco, Ginny, and Harry; he hoped it would not end badly for any party involved.

"Patronus me with any important news?" He saw Draco nod and turn to follow Severus out the door to the Headmaster's office where they would Floo from.

"Please tell me you are not falling for Weasley," he muttered, somewhat in jest. Deep down, he was really starting to believe Draco and Harry were good for one another—starting a relationship with Ginny would not end well, and it was below what he thought of his godson. Not that dating Ginny would be bad—though he certainly hadn't thought Draco fancied girls—but cheating on Harry certainly would be.

"Merlin, no. It's just…she's what I imagined a friend to be like; supportive without being intrusive and all that—we share common ground on a very important subject." They both knew what it was without saying anything.

"Potter is in for it when he discovers his boyfriend and pretend-sister may gang up on him," Severus muttered.

"What do you think he wants?" And just like that, the slight jovial mood vanished, replaced by fear and trepidation.

"He is happy, Draco, and his happiness does not usually bode well for our side."

* * *

As the two Slytherins left, Ginny turned to look at the room. It looked semi-hilarious with pink lines crisscrossing their way from one side to the other, barely a third of them with a thick 'X' through them. Everything was stacked extremely high, one thing atop another, so digging through the little 10 by 10 sections was difficult; she was glad they were done for the night, but disappointed—they would be at it tomorrow and the night after and the night after until they found it.

She looked up at the cabinet she was leaning against and realized what it was instantly—the Vanishing Cabinet. Pushing herself away from the vile object that had allowed Death Eaters onto the grounds only a few months ago, she knocked into another table—not hard in such a cluttered space—and managed to catch the bust from falling over.

Her eyes widened at the sight of the bust—it was Rowena Ravenclaw. On instinct, her gaze lifted to the top of her head where the diadem would have sat, but no luck—it was part of the bust, as firmly attached as Ginny's hand was to her arm.

She took a moment to observe the actual bust, though. The Chocolate Frog Card makers hadn't done her justice. Alive, Rowena had to have been one of the most beautiful women of her day. Ginny felt an inexplicable stab of jealousy before calling herself stupid; she had been dead for over a thousand years. Still, she realized, it was no surprise Helena was so pretty; her mom had been stunning. Add the infamous wisdom and she must have been a force to be reckoned with.

It was the eyes of the bust that were truly creepy, though. Even though they were the same pale white as the rest of the piece, they stood out, like the eyes of the Mona Lisa, compelling you to stare back. But these eyes were focused on something else altogether, and Ginny couldn't help but follow the gaze…

…to a table with nothing but a book and a box.

The book, Ginny realized, was the Potions' book Harry had used just last year. It was another conversation she had overheard the trio having, how Harry had said a spell sending Ron hanging upside-down in their dorm. Secretly, she admitted she would have loved to have seen that. Ron "I-hate-spiders-and-heights" Weasley dangling upside-down. On a broomstick, he was fine, but once he was even a few inches off the ground any other way and he had to start a conversation to keep his mind off it.

She didn't think Hermione or Harry even realized it.

Wondering how it had ended up in here, she set it back on the table and turned her attention to the box. All her breath promptly left her.

The box was a dark wood with the Ravenclaw crest on top. The majestic eagle (she never understood that) was horribly disfigured, however, by the Dark Mark that had been burned into it.

As her hand fell to the lid, she felt a surge of evil unlike anything—no, she had felt this evil before. Perhaps it hadn't felt like this at the beginning, but by the end, as her hidden master compelled her to take herself down to the Chamber, Tom Voldemort Riddle's possession had felt exactly like this. Cold, dark, shudder-inducing evil that threatened to swallow her whole swept through her, but she forced herself to open the box to reveal exactly what she knew would be there.

The Lost Diadem of Ravenclaw.

* * *

**VampireAlchemist:** Well isn't that just the best kind of luck you ever did see?

**Ron:** Why would you make me afraid of heights? It just doesn't make sense; there's no reason for it!

**VampireAlchemist:** That's your big concern? Really? You haven't made a comment throughout the story about your friend and his choice in boyfriend or your sister consorting with the enemy, but you're going to comment on me fabricating fears for you?

**Ron:** Oh, I've got a lot to...wait...Harry's gay? Ginny's consorting with Voldemort and Snape? When...

**Hermione:** Oh goodness Ron, it's only a story. Do shut up before you sound dumber than everyone believes you are.

**Ron:** _'Mioneeee..._

**VampireAlchemist:** He's such a whiner...

**Ginny:** Um, can we get back to how EASY it was for me to find that damn diadem? Especially now that I just got a month of detention and we already found the damn thing?

**Draco:** It's just more time you get to spend with me, darling.

**Ginny:** I'll take detention, thanks.

**Draco:** I'm wounded, really, I am.

**Harry: **I'm still trapped in the forest...hello? Does anyone remember me?

**VampireAlchemist:** Do something worth remembering.

**Draco:** Can there be some grand reunion scene between me and Harry soon? I miss him!

**VampireAlchemist:** I apologize that my story doesn't lend itself to YOUR whims. I can't just have Harry show up in the middle of school without finding all the Horcruxes! And with Voldemort canceling Hogsmeade trips, he can't just pop in there.

**Draco:** What...but...YOU CANCELED HOGSMEADE TRIPS! YOU CONTROL VOLDEMORT!

**Voldemort:** No one controls me, young Malfoy. Hold your tongue or I'll _Crucio_ you!

**VampireAlchemist:** You'll do no such thing, I need him alive thank-you-very-much.

**Voldemort:** ...yes Master.

**VampireAlchemist:** Very good. NOW...what do we say?

**All:** Please Review!

Next Chapter: _Of Holidays & Goblins_


	8. Of Death & the Chamber

**A/N:** So, for starters, I know this chapter isn't called of Holidays and Goblins. That's because I didn't get as far with this chapter as I planned. I had a lot of requests for certain characterizations and I pretty much wanted to take this chapter to combine some public opinion with my own plans. Some character changes came a little sooner than planned, but I think, overall, it's going to come out pretty well. The Sword, Malfoy Manor, & Gringotts scenes are the only major ones that still need to be put into writing, so there will probably be 2 more chapters before the final battle chapter. That means there will be - most likely - 4 chapters from here on out.

_Of Saviors & Setbacks_

_Of Goblins & Gringotts'_

_Of the Final Battle_

_Of an Epilogue_

That should given enough of a hint as what will be in each chapter without giving too much away, right?

Anyways, enjoy!

* * *

_**Of Death & the Chamber**_

* * *

"Ah, Severus…and young Draco." The way their names rolled off that evil tongue, laced with venom, did not raise his hope. Already, the lack of planning for this particular meeting matched with the Dark Lord's amusement was cause for significant worry. Severus had the advantage of prior experience; Draco was learning based on his godfather's reactions at this point. Severus, beneath his learned cold spy exterior, was just as unsure as Draco was, which gave cause to much more worry.

"My Lord," they both muttered, giving their slight bow before sitting in the proper places at the table, Severus on the Dark Lord's right hand, Draco at his.

"Severus, it seems the conversation I had with you has made its way to the rest of the following. Would you care to share it, as it is no longer a secret?" Draco's eyes widened, but imperceptibly as he turned only slightly to glance at Severus, whose face had taken only a slightly paler shade. In the current lighting, it was hardly noticeable.

"The one about your belief of a traitor amongst our midst, My Lord?" So he suspected. The way he said their names, the look he was giving Severus now, surely the jig must be up?

"Yes, Severus, that's the one. It seems someone else has a theory I believe you may not have come to me with. Lucius," the blonde man had a not-at-all concealed smirk plastered on his face, "has so graciously provided me with some very interesting information."

Draco surveyed the table quickly—Narcissa looked ready to faint, Lucius looked positively vicious, and the others looked on in slight confusion as the Dark Lord and Severus maintained their public conversation. He was slowly piecing everything together except the evidence that Lucius had managed to procure.

"I can see the rest of you are ever so curious. It seems, according to Lucius, Draco sent him letters after snooping through his godfather's things. He found letters sent from Potter to our very own Severus, thanking him for information that has led to Potter's evading us as well as letters about our movements Severus was intending to send, but not wanting to implicate his godfather, he sent them to Lucius to check for certain. Lucius compared the handwriting from Severus' letters to the one sent to all your students at the beginning of the year and found they matched."

As the Dark Lord retold Lucius' lie, Draco nearly stood to shout that his father was lying, but Severus dug his nails into Draco's knee, indicating he was to keep silent. Inexplicably, he relaxed. Severus knew what he was doing; he had been doing it for nearly twenty years.

"Now, Severus, as my current right hand, if you were impartial in this debacle, what would you recommend?" The Dark Lord seemed to be grinning and Draco wanted to shudder and crawl into a hole, though he kept his composure quite well.

"I would recommend an _Ignotum Revelio_, my Lord."

"Ah, Severus. It is a good thing I have you in charge of teaching the young minds at Hogwarts. If you would not mind…?"

"Certainly, my Lord. _Ignotum Revelio_." Draco had never heard of the spell, but due to the complicated wand patterns Severus made look so effortless, he decided he probably would never have to. Blue light bathed the stack of letters, rose into the air, circled for a few brief seconds, and shot into the end of the wand Lucius had been using since the Dark Lord took his.

Draco didn't know what the spell did, but he knew that it had pretty much implicated Lucius trying to frame Severus.

"Lucius, perhaps you could explain why your magical signature is detected as the only one on any of these letters."

The blonde could do nothing but stutter and Draco, who had already lost all respect for his father long ago, realized just how far he had fallen, how far he himself had almost fallen if not for Harry and Severus.

Lucius had lost his son, his wife, his power…and now he was probably about to lose his life for attempting to cross the Dark Lord.

Draco stiffened as he felt something long and thick slither over his feet—from many of the previous meetings, he knew there was only one thing in the house that could cause such fear besides the Dark Lord himself, and that was his pet.

"_Nagini…"_ The way he said the snake's name with a hissing tone despite the lack of the actual letter 's' was extremely creepy. Probably one of the only times in his life Draco had ever been scared of Harry was second year when he spoke to the snake in its own tongue—the another was last year in the bathroom when he'd nearly died.

Nevertheless, what frightened Draco the most was not the tone now but what he knew was going to follow. The demonic familiar knew from its Master's tone that it was about to get a meal and Draco knew from the meeting only a few months prior that it was going to be unpleasant to watch.

He found his Mother's face, stricken but not saddened, as she watched her husband. It was clear that not everyone realized Lucius was about to be eaten, though they certainly knew something torture-worthy was going to happen; Draco could only pray for it to be over quickly. No matter how much he hated his Father, Draco did not want a firsthand account of the man's death.

But Voldemort, with his cruel smirk and soulless eyes, waved a hand across the table in Lucius' direction and, with a low sinister laugh, watched as the snake slinked across the table.

_"…dinner."_

* * *

When he was a new recruit, Voldemort had seen his 'potential' as a Potions Master from the very beginning. He had also been very willing to show Severus the delights of being on the Dark Side provided he eliminated the _taint_ his blood held. His first murder had been his own abusive, usually drunk Muggle father.

At the time, Severus could not have been happier. He and his mother were free and, at the time, Severus had not been implicated—no Wizard authority would believe the seventeen-year-old would kill his own father and no Muggle authority could find any hint of it being anything other than a heart attack.

Later, when his mother could look at him with nothing less than contempt, Voldemort saw how dissatisfied his new Potions Master was with the way he was being treated by his mother and did the boy what he believed to be a service. Severus was an orphan, unchained by his Muggle father and thankless mother.

Severus snuck a look at his godson as the vile snake made its way towards the man who had, in many ways, ruined his life. He had little doubt that Draco would take a small amount of time to mourn the elder Malfoy—he was much more a Malfoy than Lucius could have ever hoped to be. He bore more resemblance to Abraxas Malfoy, his grandfather, than his father, something Severus was forever thankful for.

As cold and calculating as the man had been, he had had a heart.

When searching the table for reactions, the person he was most concerned about was not his strong-willed godson. It was Narcissa, pale and frazzled from months—years—of wear on her nerves. It was his fear that every day was one step closer to the thing that would completely break her down before he could save her.

Her eyes were not focused on the grizzly scene before her—Nagini's long fangs sinking into the neck of Lucius, who had been confined to his chair by _Incarcerous _ropes—nor were they directed at the floor, trying to avoid looking at it. They were focused on Severus, a shaky smile that was barely discernable aimed at him to tell him she was alright.

Suddenly, he realized that Lucius' death to her was like his own father's to him, though she did not have a hand in it. She and Draco were free from his oppression, though still under the Dark Lord's thumb of course. He subtly returned her smile and gave an imperceptible nod. _When Potter wins…_ She returned the nod and dropped the smile and her gaze to seem the submissive, horrified wife she was supposed to.

_ …we'll be together._

* * *

For a very long moment, Ginny did not know what to do. If she left it here, there was a very good chance that they would never find it again or, worse, someone else would find it. It wasn't as though the Room of Requirement was a massive secret, especially since the year of Umbridge.

Still, taking it with risked Ron and Hermione realizing that she had found it, and she had not fabricated a good enough excuse for that one that would protect Draco and Snape.

Unsure of what was the right thing to do but knowing she had to leave now or risk being out after curfew, she aimed a shrinking charm at the box and watched as it slowly seemed to disappear from sight until it was no larger than a playing card. Slipping it into her pocket, she left the Room in a hurry, realizing she was later than usual—Ron and Hermione always asked questions when she was late.

Normally, she pretended she was too irritated with "Malfoy and Snape" to talk to them politely and feigned tiredness, trudging to bed and the safety of not letting anything slip. Tonight, her excitement would present a new variable to keep secret.

If someone had been brave enough to tell her she would be keeping secrets crucial to Harry's survival from Ron and Hermione, yet working together with Snape and Draco, she would have Bat-Bogeyed them so hard the charm would not end until she was dead—maybe even beyond that. She hated keeping this from them, but the two Slytherins' survival relied on as few people as possible knowing, and Snape needed to stay alive to keep Harry alive—as did Draco.

Hermione, she was fairly certain, could keep the secret and—if the importance were made very clear—so could Ron, but neither of them would believe it, and she could not take the chance that convincing them but the other two Slytherins at risk. Therefore, it remained between the three of them and Harry.

"Ginny!" The moment the Portrait swung open, Hermione was at her side. "Ginny, you're late! Are you alright?" Hermione, experiencing years of what she believed to be mental torture at the hand of Malfoy—as if being called _Mudblood_ is torture rather than mere and petty bullying—she constantly seemed to fret over what was happening to Ginny in detention.

"I'm fine, Hermione. I just want to go to bed."

"You always want to go to bed, Gin. What are they doing to you down there?" Everyone always assumed Slytherins conducted all their business in the dungeons despite the other hundreds of rooms in the castle. But Merlin bless Ron, he was always so determined to keep her safe though he knew there was nothing he could do. She only wished he would stop focusing on her and realize that Harry needed their help more.

So while she and Draco and Snape had gone in search of the Horcrux, he and Hermione had fallen into a funk. Perhaps it was that Ginny was physically there, physically present to protect and Harry seemed so far away with no hope of helping at all, but she wished they would snap out of it and go back to the diligent do-anything-for-Harry pair they were known for.

"It's nothing I can't handle, Ron," she said in a tired tone, trying to thank him for being the protective older brother with his tone and reassure him at the same time. "Don't worry so much about me; two of them don't scare me." Those two anyways—the first week of real detention had not been pleasant, though Severus had ordered no _Crucios_ be placed on any student, of age or otherwise.

"Ginny…" She tried to hold her composure, but the tone almost set her off. She did not enjoy being talked to as though someone else knew best, especially when she had been doing all the heavy lifting—getting detention and searching—over the last month.

"Hermione, I can handle it, alright?" And with that, the very hotheaded Weasley made her way up the stairs and away from the possibility that she might let a secret slip.

She could keep a secret with the best of them until she got angry; it was one of the ways she and Ron were alike. Usually, she could keep her temper very well and act like the cool, collected Slytherins she had been hanging with as of late, but when someone pushed her buttons just the right way, she lost control and said things she didn't mean to…or shouldn't.

As soon as she made it to her room, she gently closed the door so as not to wake her three roommates and snuck into her bed, casting extremely strong Silencing and Privacy Charms around her bed; she had a message to send.

* * *

To say a giant white horse nearly standing on top of him was unexpected would be a significant understatement. Of course, moments after jumping out of bed to hit his head and, subsequently, fall onto the floor, he realized it was Ginny's Patronus.

"Well, get on with it," he muttered, waiting for the horse to deliver its message and get the hell out.

_ Harry we found the Horcrux._ That got his attention really fast. _Well, I found it—Draco and Snape are at a Death Eater meeting, but it was right next to the Vanishing Cabinet on top of the book you used in Potions last year in the Room of…you know what, it doesn't matter. What matters is its dark and sinister presence in my robes pocket is starting to freak me out and I want you to tell me where I can put it until you get here where it won't get stolen. Send your own Patronus back tomorrow night at nine so all three of us hear it at the same time. Ron and Hermione don't know we found it because I don't know how to explain hanging out with my new company without exposing them, so they think I've been in detention. Any advice on this? I'll hear from you tomorrow. I hope you're safe—I miss you and I love you. Ginny._

Something was scaring her—probably the Horcrux in her pocket (the locket in his gave him an odd sense of paranoia as well)—and she was talking unbelievable fast, but he managed to take it all in before the Patronus closed its mouth and disappeared in a dull flash of smoke and mist rather than waiting for a reply.

She wanted to wait until Draco and Severus could hear it as well—were they really getting on that well? It would be nice if his boyfriend could get along with the only other person that mattered quite nearly as much as he did and vice versa. Would it be too much to hope for a Weasley and a Malfoy to get along?

"Draco and Snape are at a Death Eater meeting…" He shivered; he knew exactly what had happened at the meeting, privy as he was to the Dark Lord's mind. He had seen from the very beginning, Draco and Severus arriving, Lucius' expression switch from victorious to petrified in a matter of seconds. He had been unable to look away from the scene for a long moment, but finally wrenched his eyes away to gauge Draco's reaction.

He was unable to determine if the lack of reaction was a good thing or a bad thing.

Severus, for nearly being exposed—considering everything about the story had been true the letters notwithstanding (neither of them was dumb enough to write them, let alone keep them)—had kept his cool amazingly well as he watched the death of a man he seemed to not care about at all. Harry, for his part, could not say he was sorry.

He was, however, thankful for Albus' planning in making Severus his final murderer—it had, quite possibly, been the one reason Voldemort would not believe Severus could be the traitor. Draco was saved by his diligence to follow in Severus' footsteps; it was to their benefit that Voldemort did not realize exactly what direction those footsteps led, especially since they eventually led to Harry.

It had only been after a Calming Draught, self-brewed he noted proudly, that he had been able to forget the awful images and concentrate on sleeping. That had been a half hour ago, a half hour before the damn white horse came bolting in with a very important message.

It was a message that gave Harry hope. Now if only he could think of somewhere in Hogwarts to hide the Diadem without anyone else finding it or it getting lost again.

* * *

"Ron?" Hermione turned to the redhead to see him staring after his sister.

"Something's wrong, Hermione. She doesn't talk to us like she used to," he muttered, dropping into an armchair by the fireplace. The fire even seemed less full of life than usual. "It was supposed to be the three of us, leading the charge; what—what—?"

She placed a hand on his back, wanting to comfort him, but not knowing how. It was best to let him talk through it; trying to guess what was happening in his head often made her more confused than just letting him tell her.

"Sirius, Dumbledore…we've lost them forever, Hermione. Harry we may as well have lost for all we know about him at this point. I can't lose my sister, too, but everything just seems so…"

"Hopeless?" She had felt it, too. Little by little, the people that had dedicated the most to their side were being taken away from them leaving them with no one to look to. Sirius had fought thirteen years in Azkaban, Dumbledore had fought for years against darkness, and Harry was the leader of their cavalry now, except he was gone. She never realized how much he drove them to do everything they had.

He was the one who said they had to get through the trapdoor and kept going when Ron had been injured. When she was petrified, he demanded they save her and Ginny. He had never thought twice about being able to save Sirius, third or fifth year. He had ignored everything they said and followed Malfoy who, it turned out, had been up to something after all.

They never listened to his conspiracy theories—that was what they had all sounded like—and, with the exception of Quirrel (and at first, Malfoy as the _Heir_ second year)—they had all panned out. Dumbledore wouldn't have been able to save the stone in time, wouldn't have been able to save Ginny. Someone had been out to get him fourth year, someone Voldemort related, and he'd never stopped trying to fight Umbridge from the inside. And he'd never laid off of Malfoy.

If they'd listened to him from the beginning, learned just once from the past, maybe they could have saved Dumbledore.

"It's Harry, isn't it?" Ron was looking at her with sorrow-filled eyes and she realized he had been asking her a question, but she didn't know how to respond. "He just makes people believe they can make a difference, that everyone is the Boy-Who-Lived and can do anything. But when he's not here, we just can't bring ourselves to believe it ourselves."

They sat by the fire a little longer before Hermione had to lean back as Ron jumped to his feet.

"We've got to start with Ginny, but we're going to bring that feeling back, Hermione—like Harry's still here." And with the Weasley determination and his fist in the air, Ron truly looked like he believed they could do it. Somehow, she smiled; he made her believe they could.

* * *

Ginny had the unbelievable luck of always ending up on the end whenever they marched to classes. Normally, she could find nothing good about this. Today, from her position at the furthest back-left corner—where no one could see her—it served her purposes well.

He stood near the corner, watching one class of students turn as another revealed itself from around the bend. It had not escaped her notice that he made less comments than the others about infractions and point loss and detention and such—probably because he did not have the time to oversee other detentions at the moment.

With a light snap of her fingers, she managed to gain his attention. The snap was hardly necessary, though—her bright red hair generally caught his attention. She had been surprised to note, surreptitiously she hoped, that he seemed to look out for her in the corridors nowadays.

It had not dawned on her until now that he might protect her from his side as much as she tried to protect him from hers.

Still, when his eyes registered the snap of her fingers, she slid the paper into her hand and held it out for him to take as her class rounded the corner. His fingers brushed hers lightly as the paper transferred possession and, certain no one could see her face except him, she delivered a large wink before continuing on to Potions.

Tonight would be interesting.

* * *

If not for his years of maintaining a cool façade in public, his eyes might have widened at her daring display of camaraderie. _Had she completely gone 'round the bend?_ Then he opened her note and realized what had her so cocky.

**Found it.**

It took everything in him to not run to the Headmaster's office. Instead, he called to Goyle, who was walking aimlessly in the corridor.

"I need to speak with Professor Snape; take up my patrolling duty for the next period, Goyle." The thoughtless Slytherin—he would never understand how the boy had passed most of his classes—nodded and crossed his arms in his best imitation of a bouncer and watched students coming to and fro in their organized blocks.

Then, in as dignified a way as he could muster, Draco made a beeline for the gargoyle on the third floor.

_"Leviticus."_ In his haste, he didn't think to wait and see if someone came out of the spiral staircase. It was, of course, the one time he did not check that someone actually was there.

"Drac—o!" Severus' exclamation of his name was punctuated by Draco actually running into him and both of them landing on the staircase. "Do tell me what was so pressing that you had to shove me back into my office?" Halfway through his irritated sentence, though, Draco had held up Ginny's note and Severus' eyes had widened.

"Inside…now." They may as well have Apparated back into his office for the amount of time it took them. "Where did you find it? Where is it now? When…?" Draco shook his head, unable to give any further information.

"Ginny found it; she slipped me this note in the corridor when she was rounding a corner with her class. I was going to burn it as soon as I showed it to you," which he did as he spoke. "I think she's planning on giving us further information tonight at detention; we do still have to keep going to that despite actually accomplishing what we set out to do." Both of them were irritated at the thought, though Draco knew Severus was going to saddle him with pretending to keep the charade going.

"If I know her," and after only a few weeks, he wasn't sure how well he did, "she's already sent Harry a message to get advice on the next step. We either need to destroy it or hide it, probably the latter."

"If we destroy it, he may know which one it was…" Draco picked the thought back up seamlessly.

"…and he'll know someone at Hogwarts knows. So…"

"Now we wait until detention, Draco."

"Severus, speaking of detention…"

"You and Miss Weasley will continue meeting in the Room of Requirement; fabricate some plausible story to satisfy her Gryffindor friends about what is happening. Please try not to come up with something that will get us murdered before we can be exonerated," he commented sardonically.

"In the meantime, I suppose you could do homework or get to know one another. Now that the Hogwarts Horcrux has been found, there is very little we can do until Potter has decided he is ready for the next step." Draco nodded, listening to his godfather with a mixture of disparity and intrigue.

On the one hand, he was stuck waiting until Harry was in the proper position to do something. Hunting the Horcrux had made him feel useful, rather than simply spying for a group that wanted nothing to do with him or Severus.

On the other hand, maybe he and Ginny could be, daresay, friends. After all, two weeks of two hour detentions—four on the weekends—was a lot of time to get to know someone, and neither of them would be doing homework when they could be probing one another for details. He wondered what he could learn about Harry from her and practically un-Malfoy-like jumped from his seat in excitement.

"Go back to patrolling, Draco. Tell people you came to see me about something that happened at the meeting last night; none of the Death Eater children will dare question you as long as it only took you a short amount of time." He nodded, still feeling very conflicted, but looking forward to the evening.

* * *

"Ronald, do you have any idea what will happen to us if we're caught?" Hermione hissed at him, but he gave her a look that clearly said to be quiet. There was a much smaller chance of them being caught if she would stop telling him the risks. Obviously, sneaking around the school was much harder with Harry in possession of the Cloak and Map and not being with them.

"Yes, Hermione, I know we'll land in detention," he replied, making sure there were no Death Eater patrollers around the corner. "Maybe we can land in it with Ginny and find out what's been going on with her. It would certainly eliminate the need for all of this!" She sent him a dirty look, but he held up a finger to his mouth and continued to slink around the corner—Ginny's red hair had just disappeared down the corridor.

He could feel Hermione tense behind him and knew she was itching to say something, perhaps ask why they were sneaking around instead of telling Ginny they were following her, but she dutifully maintained silence—despite her constant need to ask questions, even she knew now was a time for silence.

At the bottom of the staircase, he caught sight of her again and made to follow her when a sixth year Slytherin came up the stairs and they were forced to duck into the nearest doorway. Ginny was on her way to detention—everyone in the castle knew this—so she had a reason to be out. Everyone else was required to march as a class or be in their dorms.

Ron and Hermione would be immediately questioned for their motives, considering their history of breaking out to disobey school rules. True, it was normally in the interest of the greater good, but the current administration was not much interested in the _greater good_.

When the green-robed girl passed their hiding place and was far enough away, they continued their pursuit of Ginny. They were disappointed to find, however, that they had no idea which floor she had gone to. In addition to not telling them what went on in detention, she refused to even say where it was.

Perhaps she was smarter than they thought and knew they would try to follow, Ron surmised.

"'Mione," he whispered, unsure of where to go. "What now?"

"Oh, honestly Ronald, are you a wizard or aren't you?" If they hadn't been in such a tense situation, he might have laughed at the reminder of first year. As it was, he was curious exactly what she was referring to.

"_Point Me: _Ginny." Immediately, a thin streak of blue light pointed forward, disappearing down to the third floor.

"Brilliant, Hermione, but what if someone sees the light?" She shrugged.

"Then we hide. Now let's go before we lose her again." Over the course of the following ten minutes, they cast the same spell four more times. She went from the third floor, back to the staircase, up to the fourth floor and through a tapestry with a hidden passageway leading back to the third floor before the spell stopped working. Hermione could only think of two reasons.

"She's somewhere with an Untraceable Charm or…" Ron didn't dare to think about the second option.

"Hermione, she purposely tried to lose us," he said as they snuck back to the Gryffindor Common Room. "Why would she try to get rid of us? Do you think they've got her under the Imperius?"

"It would explain a lot of her behavior lately," Hermione conceded, "but she's still got the same temperament. Most victims of the Imperius lose the minute nuances that make up their personality because someone else is controlling them. The person in control doesn't normally pay much attention to that aspect when they exercise their control." It was a classic textbook response, but it didn't set Ron's worries to rest.

* * *

"Well you certainly took your sweet time getting here!" Draco was clearly becoming agitated, and Severus would have let a smile slip if not for the Weasley girl entering the room. Despite seventeen years of emotional training, the boy was pacing a storm up and down his office and displaying irritation. _Malfoys don't show irritation,_ he would say if Severus drew attention to it. _We cause irritation._

Merlin did they ever.

But now, at seven-ten, she was finally present and they could begin.

"Don't get your panties in a bunch, Draco," she sighed. "I had to take a detour; I was being followed by my brother and Hermione." Severus noticed the brief downwards tick of her mouth and frowned; he had never wanted this life of being a double agent, hiding things from the people that he cared about.

He wouldn't have wished it on anyone, even Ginny Weasley, who had unconsciously taken it upon herself.

"I lost them on the fourth floor, though. They were tracing me with the modified Four-Point; I heard Hermione's voice echo the first time she used it." Severus' eyes widened; the smartest witch of their year had been dumb enough to voice a simple spell that she could have done wordlessly? It would have been much safer.

"You should have left earlier!" Draco's irritation clearly knew no bounds, and Severus suddenly had no interest in saving the boy from making an idiot of himself. Ginny Weasley had six older brothers; she could not have been a stranger to idiotic teenage boys. "We had to wait to send Harry a message!"

"I sent it to him last night; he's sending a response at eight tonight." Severus was sitting behind his desk, watching the entire exchange. Unsurprisingly, the Weasley girl was maintaining the upper hand the entire time; Draco lost his logic when he lost his temper. Apparently, the two went hand in hand.

"Oh…well…" Ginny, to her credit, looked highly amused by Draco's incoherency, and simply took a seat at the nearest chair.

"Don't worry about it, Draco. I've spent years thinking two steps ahead of my brothers. I'm not exactly a stranger to male teenage hormones and the effects they have on your thought processes." The Malfoy's expression displayed that he was clearly flabbergasted. He was not used to being accosted in a flat-out unsubtle tone. Words behind his back were common, but not many people had the guts to actual respond to him in a battle of wits.

Hermione Granger had bested him in a battle of fists, though Severus knew that was because Draco had too much honor to hit a girl. Calling her a Mudblood had been low, however, and Severus had secretly agreed with the Gryffindor's actions in that particular situation.

"Why eight o'clock, Miss Weasley?"

"I thought we could discuss what we are going to tell everybody about detention since the reason for it is now gone," she said, kicking her legs over the arm of the chair and relaxing as though she belonged in the office. Severus was surprised at the familiarity she expressed in his presence; it was less formal than Harry and Albus had been. Harry at least had a grandfatherly sort of respect for the aged Headmaster.

"You must still attend _detention_," he responded, albeit a little apologetically. "I cannot be seen as soft on anyone who is not a Slytherin or the child of a Death Eater, though I would very much like to release you. I have already discussed this with Draco; you two are to continue meeting in a room somewhere at the designated times. I release myself from this infernal time commitment," he scowled as though the time spent with the two teenagers had been absolute atrocious.

If he was completely honest, it hadn't been altogether unpleasant listening to their banter back and forth across the Room.

"Great, well, can we figure out exactly what we're doing at these _detentions,"_ the girl continued as though she'd expected his response, which she most likely had, "because Ron and Hermione keep asking, and dodging their questions is getting a little suspicious." That it wasn't already suspicious was highly unlikely, but he did not say so. He wouldn't have gotten the chance even if he had wanted to because she continued speaking.

"I had an idea, but I don't know how to implement it without actually having to do it."

"Do share, Miss Weasley."

"The Blood Quill Umbridge used on Harry two years ago; I don't fancy actually having the scar, but if there's a way to glamour it for an extended period of time, I wouldn't be opposed to having it for the next few months." Severus looked momentarily shocked; he didn't even see Draco's reaction.

"Dolores used the Blood Quill on Mister Potter?"

"I thought it was common knowledge," she shrugged. "He never complained about it, though. He just used the Murtlap Essence that Hermione made him every night; I think he's still got the scar. Something about a 'reminder' even though he could easily get it healed. He didn't use it enough to scar too deeply for Madame Pomfrey to not be able fix it."

In the chair opposite Ginny, Draco was muttering something about "Potter" and "never complains about anything even when he should".

"I think it comes from the years he spent with his relatives; he's used to not complaining." And just like that, Severus was drawn into his own memories of Harry and Draco's fifth year. The Occlumency lessons when he would delve into the boy's mind, see memories of a scrawny boy being chased up a tree, through the halls of school, pushed over by a fat, pig-looking creature.

He'd seen darkness illuminated by three small slivers of light on what looked like a door. He remembered memories that weren't his of spiders, cobwebs, dust falling in the early morning. He felt burns he didn't have from not getting sausage of the stove in time and being screamed at by a larger version of the fat, pig-looking creature and a woman that looked suspiciously like Lily's younger sister.

He never thought to actually make sense of the memories he'd taken from Harry during their lessons; he'd only sought to make the boy as miserable as possible. Now, he felt miserable about his own behavior, which did not happen often. True he often regretted having to perform certain actions, but he never regretted performing them when they benefited the greater good. This was a rare moment.

Suddenly, he found himself agreeing with Draco; Harry should complain more. He'd certainly earned the right.

Over in the other chair, Draco was looking confusedly between Ginny, who had heard the stories from Harry firsthand, and Severus, who had experienced them through Harry's own mind. The boys had not spent enough time together in a stress-free environment to discuss such idle topics, so Draco didn't realize that Harry had spent eleven years in a closet or that he had been the equivalent of a house elf all his life.

He probably didn't even understand why exactly Harry had turned his hand away on the train first year, but Severus did.

"It is Harry's choice to tell you, Draco. Suffice to say Harry deserves to complain about anything he wants when this is all over," the man said dryly, observing Ginny's agreeing smile.

"As for your idea, Miss Weasley…"

"Ginny; I think we've reached that point, don't you, Professor?" He raised an eyebrow; he honestly wasn't sure if they'd reached that point, but he simply inclined his head. Over the last few weeks, she had proven herself many times over. He could certainly acquiesce to this small request.

"In private, Ginny, very well. I still believe, as your elder, you should still refer to me as Professor, but when you graduate, perhaps we can renegotiate." It was the most he'd ever given any student; even the Slytherins.

"I can deal with that," she shrugged. "Anyways, you were saying?"

"I was saying that I cannot simply create a glamour that will stay for an extended period of time. However…" And here he was reluctant to continue because he opposed to anything that would permanently injure a student in any way. But Draco and Ginny were looking at him expectantly and he knew he would have to finish, no matter how uncomfortable he might be with it.

"However, if you already had the scar, you could perform a simple charm to make it appear deeper than it really was simply by darkening it." He waited for it to sink it; she would have to write a few lines and actually etch a line into her skin.

"Do you have a Quill?"

"Ginny!" Severus quite agreed with his godson's outburst, but didn't say so. He simply raised an eyebrow in speculation.

"Ginny, this…"

"I know what it is, Professor; I did see Harry come back after writing nearly fifty lines every night for a week straight with little more than two days between the end of one session and the beginning of another before doing another week. I know exactly what it looks like and what it does. I also know you have few other ideas of what we can lie about that would keep everyone believing us.

"I'll say I have to write five lines, wait fifteen minutes, and write ten more. That would be about twenty lines a night and if I say the Potions Master was giving me Murtlap Essence so that I didn't pass out too quickly, it's also believable."

And it was in that moment that a Weasley gained Severus Snape's respect. The fact of the matter was she was fabricating this entire story to protect Severus and Draco, not herself. She could easily tell Weasley and Granger the truth and they could leave the rest of the school wondering; no one would question the two supposedly most dedicated followers of Lord Voldemort.

To protect her own standing with Harry's best friends, she could easily out the Slytherins, but she chose to protect them—even at the cost of causing physical injury to herself. In an effort to protect Harry, she had become a double agent for her own side, helping Draco and himself.

She, unlike many people her age, not only understood what was at risk, but understood the personal sacrifice necessary to securing a victory for their side. It was a combination few people had; it was why so many were placing their hope in Harry Boy-Who-Lived Potter—placing their hope in him meant they would have to sacrifice little to nothing. Cowards.

He opened the bottom drawer of his desk and removed a black quill with a shot of red through it and a plain piece of parchment, placing it in front of her. She picked it up without hesitation, the Quill poised over the parchment as though it was not about to etch whatever she wrote into her skin.

"What am I writing and how many lines do I need before the glamour works properly?"

"_I must not disobey orders,_ as the point of your detentions was to keep you from causing trouble; ten lines will be sufficient." He had barely finished giving her the instructions before she set the Quill and began writing.

Unable to watch her purposely mutilate her own hand, Severus turned to watch his godson instead.

* * *

Draco simply could not settle on one emotion. From the moment Ginny handed him that blessed piece of news, he had not stopped walking on air. It had been difficult to hide his delight from the Slytherins, but they seemed to have passed it off as him trying to cover his sadness at his Father's death. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Then, when Ginny was late, even by a minute, his elation had faded into anxiety and impatience, giving way to irritation. The following half hour could barely be categorized as one emotion, though he tried; they had all begun blending together since they changed so fast.

Anger at Umbridge for using a Blood Quill on Harry in detention and leaving a scar.

Irritated amusement at Harry for never complaining.

Confusion about Harry's past, something that Ginny and Severus clearly knew plenty about.

Approval at Ginny's idea.

Shock and horror at her acceptance of the only viable way to carry it out.

Disgusted intrigue as she carved the lie into her hand. _No,_ he thought. _We must disobey; disobey at every possible moment. Disobey and fight back._

He had never seen a Blood Quill in use before, but he'd heard disgustingly horrifying stories about them. He had certainly heard they were painful to use, but as he watched Ginny, it was impossible to think that she was doing little more than completing an assignment.

Then, he saw the thin, neat letters in perfect lines appear on her left hand. _I must not disobey orders._ With every scratch, some part of the line got deeper.

She didn't stop, simply continued from line to line as though the marks on her hand didn't exist. To her, the quicker she finished, the quicker the pain would stop. The truly ingenious part was that, were it a real detention the way she described it, she would be writing as slow as possible to prevent having to write it too many times during the course of detention, making it more painful.

He could see in Severus' eyes the same respect spark that had been growing in Draco's eyes of the redhead since their meeting on the train. Knowing that she had gained his godfather's respect caused pride to blossom for some unknown reason inside of him.

As the clock on Severus' desk ticked its way towards eight—seven minutes left—Ginny dropped the Quill and pushed it back to Severus, laying her most-likely stinging hand back in her lap.

"Now what?"

"Now, Ginny, you soak your hand in this, after which I shall teach you the charm. You should perform it any time you leave your dorm, even if you have already applied it; there is no such thing as 'too deep' in this situation." As he spoke, Severus had conjured a bowl of Murtlap Essence for her to bathe her hand in and a stack of bandages to wrap it in. She would have to take the bandages off before returning to her dorms.

Just as she placed her hand in the bowl, a stag with a flower wrapped around the antler appeared.

"Just Prongs," Ginny whispered. Draco didn't understand what she meant, but left it alone, realizing this must be Harry's Patronus; it was beautifully majestic and he couldn't help but stare in awe for a few brief moments. He also could not understand the slight sneer on Severus' lips.

Then it released its message.

_Draco, Ginny, Severus—_

_Hide it in the Chamber of Secrets. Learn this phrase and say it when you get to any door: "open"_.

All three of them repeated the Parseltongue phrase in the slight pause that was given; Ginny even wrote it down phonetically with the closest things she could find, which happened to be the Blood Quill and parchment. At least they would have it with them when they went, Draco thought sardonically as the phrase appeared on the inside of her forearm.

_Make sure Ginny gets it back before Christmas Break; I'll be stopping at the Burrow to pick it up. I'm still working on a way to destroy them, but I have the Locket and I'm searching for the Chalice._

_Ginny—tell Ron and Hermione you got a message from me and that I'll tell them everything when I see you at Break. I may be in disguise, Polyjuiced, but I'll tell you who I'm coming as beforehand so you don't curse me._

_Severus—please find a way to inform me what is alright to tell Ron and Hermione and what isn't. By the time I visit them, I'm hoping to have the Chalice in my possession, but if not, it's still the last one I need to find. I believe telling them over Break gives them time to adjust and less of a chance of them freaking when they get back to school; I'd also like my friends to know about Draco and me beforehand if I happen to…not make it…but that would require spilling the beans. I need your advice on this._

_Draco—I'm sorry to Ginny and Severus for making you listen to this, but I love you, Draco, and I do wish I could be there with you. If this doesn't turn out as well as I'm hoping, my wish will be that we could have spent more time together, but at least know that._

_I hope you're all taking care of each other, and I'll hopefully see you all soon._

_Harry_

As the stag disappeared, the three occupants stared at each other with a mixture of resignation and sadness. Draco wanted to be concerned with Severus' decision on letting Harry tell his best friends about their spy position, but he couldn't get away from the fact that Harry seemed to believe he was going to die.

Stupid boy.

As he had a slight mental breakdown, he heard Ginny and Severus begin talking over him again—the two of them seemed to get along really well all of a sudden. If Ginny hadn't been Gryffindor, she probably would have been Severus' second-favorite student with her intelligence, cunning, and biting sarcastic wit—well, favorite behind him, of course.

* * *

"Professor, you know he's thinking with his heart right now." The stag had barely disappeared when Ginny turned to Snape, very displeased with the Boy-Who-Lived. As of late, he'd been displaying seemingly brand new intelligence, which he had apparently hidden in the presence of Hermione. During detention, Draco and Severus had told her about him brewing his own stock of potions, taking care to hide his identity, staking out the Ministry rather than rashly breaking in…

Now, he was willing to risk everything they had kept silent—and rightfully so—for months so that his _friends_ would know about his _boyfriend._ Clearly, he had spent far too much time on his own, wistfully remembering everyone at Hogwarts.

"Yes, it seems I overestimated Harry's ability to hold out on his own," the Headmaster mused, sitting back at his desk, brow furrowed. "I think the hard part is he's lonely and going nowhere; he has no way of destroying these damn things."

"Speaking of the _damn things…_can we go get rid of it now?" Ginny began squirming and shifting from foot to foot, still uncomfortable with the familiar evil resting in her pocket. It was too reminiscent of Riddle's diary, always among her things, first year.

And so, with Ginny looking downright miserable between the two of them to alleviate suspicion, her still-stinging hand underneath bandages, the trio made their way to the second floor girls' bathroom. It was surprisingly Myrtle-free, something Ginny was eternally grateful for; the ghost was far too much of a gossip.

"Um, something just occurred to me," Ginny admitted, staring at the broken faucet with the small snake. "We have no way to get out; last time, Fawkes carried us out."

"And the blasted bird died for good when Albus was laid to rest," Severus mumbled. Ginny thought she heard _good riddance_, but ignored it for the time being.

"Could we fly out again?" Draco reached into his pocket and pulled from it a shrunken broomstick. Ginny beamed.

"That works. Alright…_open_." She cringed violently at the sound of her own voice twisting the syllables to emphasize the '_s'_. Just as Ron had not been able to look at a spider since Fred and George transfigured his teddy bear, Ginny had not been able to think of snakes since seeing the Basilisk dead in the chamber.

As Snape volunteered to go first and placed one foot down the tunnel, face contorted into disgust, Ginny almost ran to a stall and emptied the contents of her stomach when she remembered that thing had been decaying down there for almost six years.

"Gin?" She had stumbled backwards a bit, nearly into Draco, who was now looking at her with concern. "Are you alright? You're really pale…"

"I'm fine," she assured him, voice shaky enough to be unconvincing. "Bad memories." Even the smell was making her nauseous. Her mind hadn't been in control when Riddle opened the Chamber, but her body could still feel and sense everything, and the smell was still overpowering—more so, even.

"I believe the second part," he responded, backing away to let her stand on her own. "You ready?" He held out a hand but didn't make a move to grab hers; he was giving her the choice.

She grasped it tightly.

"Let's go."

* * *

As much as he hated to admit it, he was bored. Time was moving incredibly slowly out in the woods, and the lack of communication with the outside world made it even more difficult. The last word he had received from Hogwarts was Draco's ferret, which told him the Horcrux was hidden, Severus would get back to him when he had made a final decision, and if he even thought about dying, Draco would bring him back just to murder him for being an idiot.

Apparently, his last message had showed his desperation and angst at being stranded in the forest—of his own design, of course. He hadn't _exactly_ meant to sound like he planned on dying. It was just hard to stay positive out here, especially now that he was nearing a town that seemed to have Dementors circulating. The thought of them creeping up made him shiver and he set a silent alarm in addition to his other wards.

It was a week until Halloween, and he had spent much of his time alternating between rereading Albus' journal and writing his own notes. There weren't many, considering Albus had everything else figured out. He made note of which Horcruxes were destroyed, which they had, and which they had left. He essentially condensed Albus' years of writing into two pages that he could easily reference.

Shaking his head, he closed the book again. If it hadn't been for magic, he was fairly certain the binding would have cracked by now. He was considering opening it again when his rucksack, sitting haphazardly in the corner of the tent, began vibrating. Someone he knew was sending him mail; he already had an inkling of who it was.

Sure enough, when he opened the flap, a clean-pressed October edition of _The Quibbler_ flew out of the bag into his hands with a note attached.

_There's always someone on your side. Watch out for Flinkarglames._

Despite the complete absurdity of the note, Harry let a smile slip across his face—there was always something new to be on the lookout for in Luna's world. There was always something new to be on the lookout for in Harry's world, too, but most of those things had the potential to kill him. Some days, he decided he would rather live in Luna's world.

Just as he had with the September edition, he considered throwing it back into the rucksack, unread. But what else did he really have to do at the moment? He could pretend he had important things to get done in the epic preparation for the epic battle of epic proportions, but the truth was he was failing miserably in the effort to get any real information.

Harry Potter was in desperate need of two things—a Horcrux, and a way to destroy the two he already had. Nagini, he knew, would be the last one to be eliminated, most likely on the battle field.

Paging through information about the Minister Pius and his clear devotion to the Dark Lord, the lack of support the sheeple were giving Harry because of the _danger_ it posed them, and the dangers of weeding a garden without first spraying for, as luck would have it, Flinkarglames, Harry eventually gave up, though. As much as he wanted to finally think about something that wasn't Voldemort, his mind kept drifting back to his dilemma.

He was cold. He was hungry. He missed Draco. He was getting nowhere.

He felt, in his own mind, he was perfectly within his rights to complain, considering he had been at this for almost two months, and had little to go on. Actually, he had a lot to go on; he just had no way to act on the information.

The truth of the matter was, regardless of anyone else's opinions, Harry knew Voldemort. They had grown up very much the same, after all, though Harry might have preferred the orphanage to Vernon Dursley. To have an account at Gringotts' Bank was the ultimate sign that one belonged in the Wizarding World.

The problem remained to be that Harry did not know which account to look in first. It was possible Voldemort had had his own account before his death, but the contents would have been emptied into another—if he had a will—or simply emptied. If it had been emptied into another, or if he'd given the Horcrux to another to begin with, who would he have chosen?

Twenty years ago, who was the Dark Lord's most trusted follower.

For a dark moment, Harry wondered if Lucius Malfoy had the Chalice locked away in his vault. If so, it would be no trouble at all asking Draco to retrieve it…until he got caught, anyways, and Harry refused to let that happen. He would rather break in.

But then Harry remembered Lucius had already been in possession of a Horcrux—the diary—and he found it improbable that he would be given two, even if they were to be kept in separate locations. No, Harry was almost certain it had been given to someone else.

It was all a matter of whom.

On the back of the _Quibbler_, Harry saw the photo of a man with many of Luna's facial features as he went to drop it back in the sack. The man had a grin that implied he seemed to know a lot, though Harry imagined that _a lot_ meant a lot of things the average person had no interest in. He wore robes of a dark purple, reminding Harry of Albus, and he wore a chain with an odd charm—a triangle with a circle inscribed and a line dividing it down the middle. His hair, interestingly enough, was the same shade and length as Luna's.

This, the caption proclaimed, was Xenophilius Lovegood, Editor in Chief. Harry gave a quick laugh, though no one was around to hear it; Harry suddenly had no trouble believing Luna's weirdness.

* * *

The night, though overall successful, had gone from annoying, passing bad, and ending with outrageously horrible. The words on her hand were beginning to scab over and itch something terrible, which was only increased by the Cleaning Charm that was currently masking the awful stench of Eau de Chamber of Secrets. After years of Fred and George surreptitiously testing their products on her and other members of the family, though, itching no longer fazed her.

No, it was the second conversation of the night with her brother and almost-kind-of girlfriend that had broken her past the boiling point.

It wasn't their fault, she conceded to herself, though even that was a stretch. She couldn't tell them Draco and Snape were on their side, so she couldn't jump to their defense when the Gryffindors starting laying the insults, barbs, and general bad attitudes on. Unfortunately, that meant they could not understand why she was so irritated.

They, of course, jumped to the conclusion that it was too much time with Draco "Ferret" Malfoy. If she hadn't known the truth, she would have agreed. Then again, if she hadn't known the truth, she wouldn't be in fake-detention every night for the rest of the month—a whole seven more days—arguing with Ron and Hermione.

Ginny was happy that they had fessed up to trailing her to detention…or attempting to anyways. She acquiesced to some of their demands to know why she had, in turn, tried to lose them by telling them Snape didn't want anyone else to know what was going on in detention.

This, of course, set off a whole new round of accusations. Was there an Unbreakable Vow involved? Were they physically hurting her? Using the Cruciatus? She simply stuck to her story that they could not know.

After about twenty more minutes of them trying tactic after tactic—they tried good-cop bad-cop, enticing her…even charades—and her not yielding to any of them, she decided it was time to give them enough to back off a little. She reached across the table to grab the bag she had tossed as soon as the accusations began—she reached with a very particular hand.

"Ginny! They're making you use a Blood Quill?" Hermione's gasp of pure terror actually made Ginny feel a little bad. She knew Hermione had been the one to help Harry through after-detention with Umbridge during their fifth year, preparing the Murtlap Essence for his return every night, without fail. Would she have done the same, Ginny wondered, if this really had been what was going on in detention for the last almost-month? Her reaction indicated she would have.

"It's nothing," she said, airily waving the same hand. "They make me write five lines and then make me stop for ten minutes so I don't pass out from blood loss. I just take as long as possible on the five lines—they haven't noticed yet." She gave a self-assured wink to emphasize the "I know what I'm doing" attitude she was currently trying to pull off.

"Ginny, it looks so deep! It's going to scar; you haven't been using the Murtlap…" Again, Ginny felt a twinge of guilt at Hermione's words.

Ron, on the other side of Hermione, was staring at her hand with the same look Ginny knew from years of living with the teen. He was angry and helpless, which made him angrier. He wanted to defend his baby sister, but knew doing so would mean compromising more than one thing—Ginny could get more detention or they could both end up in detention.

"Snape leaves a bowl in the room and Malfoy oversees the detention. He really doesn't pay attention; just makes sure I've done my five lines before starting the clock." She shrugged. I think it's more the long-term torture."

Hermione's brow was furrowed and Ginny, realizing she was starting to give too many details, details she had to remember to keep her story straight, snatched her bag and ran to her room. They hadn't called after her.

Now she was worried. Had she given too much away? Would Hermione figure something out? Her confusion and worry was giving way to anger and irritation. Coupled with the overall itching of her body, especially in her hand, she was in a right state. She dared the next person that came through that door to say anything that could be rearranged to be sarcastic or stupid, intended or not.

* * *

Pieces were coming together, and Ginny, though the girl would probably be horrified to realize it, had been giving her clue after clue.

Snape was giving her Murtlap Essence. Malfoy wasn't torturing her psychologically during the physical pain. They weren't even injuring her to the point that Umbridge had with Harry. The cut in her hand looked deep, deep enough to have been going on for the whole month, so she didn't doubt that. What she doubted was any Death Eater besides Snape and Malfoy being as…kind…to Ginny during the month as they had been.

Hermione still wanted to tell Ron her theories, but the look on his face stopped her. He was already struggling with the idea that he couldn't help his baby sister, couldn't defend her honor or fight back for her. It was crushing him to be so helpless as an older brother.

To know his sister was probably lying to him about Snape and Malfoy and their allegiances—if Hermione's assumptions were correct anyways—would only injure his pride and rationale further. He would, she knew, oscillate between distrust for his sister and outrage or disbelief at the Slytherins. No one could afford any of that right now; things had to continue as they were.

As much as Hermione wanted to know the truth, pursuing it might mean Snape and Malfoy being found out by more than just her, and she wouldn't risk that—even to satisfy her own blazing curiosity.

* * *

Severus had not lacked awe as he slid into the tunnel leading to the Chamber. After the fiasco of five years prior, the entire staff now knew that the place existed. However, as Harry was the only Parseltongue whose talents were well-known—or even known at all—and no one wanted the boy even thinking of returning, no one could claim they had ever been down there.

For Severus Snape, long-time Slytherin supporter, it had been like a dream come true. He was the first Slytherin to enter the Chamber since the Dark Lord. Before that, it was since Salazar Slytherin himself. The thought had made him shiver—or perhaps that was the shriveled Basalisk skin that stretched sixty-feet long in front of him or the mice carcasses that had crunched beneath his feet as he moved to allow room for his two companions.

He had not been blind to Ginny's reactions as she reentered the chamber. For him, it had been a dream-come-true. For her, it was like willingly walking into a never-ending nightmare. Again, he felt a brief spike of admiration for the girl who was a true combination of Gryffindor and Slytherin qualities. Severus knew where Harry got most—not all—of his Slytherin qualities. Ginny was a different matter altogether; how had the youngest Weasley turned so Slytherin in her six years at Hogwarts?

They entered and exited as quickly as possible, depositing the box inside the mouth of the Basilisk carcass, carefully hidden under bone. The flesh had long since decayed. Draco had recommended hiding the box within Salazar's mouth, but both Ginny and Severus vehemently opposed, though the latter could not understand the former's reaction immediately. She began shivering violently and staring between the carcass and the mouth, frightened as though she expected a live Basilisk to come slithering…and then he suddenly understood.

Draco, while understanding of Severus' opposition to not hide a purely Ravenclaw artifact in the very visage of Slytherin himself, seemed more inclined to not worry Ginny more. Either way, the box remained in the pile of bones that made the head of the once-great Basilisk and the trio had exited extremely quickly.

Now, Severus paced his office, deciding what to do on more than one count. He still had to respond—negatively, of course—to Harry's request to tell Weasley and Granger of the role he and his godson were currently playing.

It certainly wasn't that he couldn't sympathize though he didn't have friends as close as Harry. McGonagal was probably the closest thing he had to a friend after Draco and Narcissa, though that probably wasn't her opinion at the moment; damn Albus.

He wanted to tell Draco about the past and the hopeful future he had planned with Narcissa. He wanted to tell Narcissa what he and Draco were doing—she didn't realize he was with the Order (then again, the Order didn't know it either) and Harry Potter. She simply thought he was doing his best to get Draco out of the Dark Lord's service…which he was.

But telling either of them the true nature of the other side was to risk everything they had worked for and he simply would not risk their collective future for a few illusory moments of peace in the present. He had been fighting too long and too hard to slump now.

He also needed to spend some time observing the interaction of his godson and youngest Weasley.

While he believed Draco when the blonde had denied any possibility of a relationship because "Really, Severus, I promise I am quite gay," there was a connection the two of them shared to Harry. Never in his nearly twenty years of teaching had he ever seen something quite like it. True, Weasley and Granger had always had some sort of romantic entanglement and Harry did seem closer to Granger as the years went on and Weasley became more pigheaded.

But Granger and Harry had not instantly hated one another with a hate forged from generations of familial hate. Arthur and Lucius had hated one another before Bill and Lucius had hated one another, and Bill had gone to school with them! While the hate had simply passed from Lucius to his son, the Weasley's had passed their hate from the patriarch through six male, full-of-adolescent-rage teenagers before landing on Ginny Weasley who, if he remembered correctly, had despised Draco when she first arrived, too.

There was a significant difference between putting aside hate and making an effort to be civil to one another so as not to irritate the common link in the chain. Draco and Ginny were something else altogether—like best friends or some nonsense like that. He had scowled at the stupid, very Gryffindor term, and continued to pace, still wondering what he should say to Harry so as not to cause him to act rashly. It was a difficult task he had set before him.

* * *

He awoke at midnight on Halloween, a brief flash of fear searing through him, though not from some cosmic force that wanted him awake the moment his life had first crashed around him, back when he was too young to remember anything that was not high-pitched laughter and a shock of green light.

No, he awoke at midnight from a nightmare—though he was fairly certain it was a vision wrapped in a nightmare—that involved the high-pitched laughter and shock of green light.

_"Where is it, Gregoravitch?" A man, old and gray, sat huddled in a corner, clearly frightened by Voldemort standing before him._

_ "I…I don't have it anymore. It was _stolen_ from me years ago…"_ Here, his vision of Voldemort's interaction with Gregoravitch faded into a memory of a handsome-ish blonde teen with something clutched in his hand as he threw a smug smirk behind him, disappearing into a thunderstorm. _"I swear…I swear on my life!" Here was the laugh, cold, cruel, and an assured sign of what was to follow._

_ "I believe you," the gaunt figure rasped, a flick of his wand followed by a scream and bright green._

Outside, rain waged war on his tent, but he took no notice. Lightning illuminated the shadows of the trees on the canvas ceiling and thunder literally made the ground shake with vibrations. It was the first rain in a long while, but he didn't care.

It was Halloween; sixteen years ago today, he still had parents. Sixteen years ago, they were waking up in hiding in the house in Godric's Hollow, probably watching as children from the area ran back and forth preparing for the night that would change everything for Harry, shouting ghost stories, unaware of what was going to happen. Hate burned through him, fluid and searing every part of him.

Sixteen years ago, Tom "I Am Lord Voldemort" Marvolo Riddle ruined his life. Harry was going to return the favor before it hit seventeen.

* * *

"You did not!"

"You can't tell me that ass didn't deserve it," she threw back, clearly expecting a retort. Draco was too busy laughing that Blaise Zabini had been bested by Ginny Weasley, if the story she was telling was completely factual, which he had no trouble believing that it was.

"My disbelief does not, Miss Weasley, stem from the fact that he deserved it. My disbelief is purely founded in the fact that I did not _know_ about it. How did he manage to keep it a secret? Why didn't you spread it around?"

"Well, I find it works out better for me in the end if my enemies don't know what I'm capable of." And suddenly, he was on the floor, staring up at an amused Ginevra Weasley. "I'll bet you didn't even notice me levitate you just enough to make you fall off the table." He honestly hadn't, and he felt a little stupid now, though he wouldn't tell her that.

He didn't have to; she knew.

"It's about being surreptitious and using a good distraction; I kept you busy with something else while I made you fall on your ass. It's the same way I cursed Blaise. I'm guessing you didn't think anything of it when he didn't come to class for a week?"

"I try to ignore Blaise, honestly," he said as he stood up, taking hold of the chair before sitting down to make sure she didn't move that while he wasn't paying attention.

"You wouldn't have been able to that week," she smirked. He thanked whatever God's existed that he had never reached that point of the Weasley-Woman Anger. No matter how much money he had, he would never have been able to live it down if his hair sang the "Everybody Poops" song every time he had to use the bathroom.

She may have gotten basic from her brothers, but Ginny Weasley had an evil, pranking mind all her own.

For the last week, the two had spent "quality time" with one another in an empty classroom at the base of the Astronomy Tower. To both of them, it was kind of like Harry was there; he was notorious for being caught in the Tower.

So after swapping stories about family, friends, and dreams of the future—Draco had been surprised to hear she wanted to be an author of children's fiction books—they had resorted to detailing their favorite moments at Hogwarts. Draco, disappointed to find he hadn't had very many due to being "King of the Slytherins" and taking the mickey out of Harry and the rest of their group, he had been highly entertained by Ginny's.

Especially the one that was at Blaise Zabini's expense.

"Do you…" He was about to respond when a shock of fear went through him. It was crushing, like being in front of the Dark Lord when he was angry. Ginny hadn't said anything about his sudden silence; when he looked up, she looked exactly as he felt—scared and confused.

Moments later, he was surprised to feel a surge of hate he tended to, again, associate with being in the Dark Lord's presence. He wanted to say something, anything, but he was afraid he would kill Ginny with the amount of hate surging through him, so he forced it down. It took an unbelievable amount of effort and he was surprised to feel it finally disappear.

"You felt that, too, didn't you?" He nodded at her question, glad he wasn't going crazy, but scared about what had just happened. "What was it?" His voice came out shaky and unsure.

"I have no idea."

* * *

_VampireAlchemist: _Oooh...what just happened?

_Draco Malfoy:_ Don't YOU know? This is YOUR story!

_VampireAlchemist: _I am merely a pawn.

_Severus Snape:_ We're all doomed.

_VampireAlchemist: _Oh, shut up. Just because I'm making this up as I go along doesn't mean you can all mock me.

_Hermione Granger:_ Actually, because you're the one writing all this, you're the one mocking yourself. You're losing an argument with yourself. It's a clear sign of insanity.

_VampireAlchemist: _Would you shut up and do your job?

_All_: Please Review!

_**Next Chapter:** Of Saviors & Setbacks_


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